


Not Just Curses Leave Scars

by RecIt_Ralph



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Harry Potter, HP: EWE, Heartbreak, Injured Harry, Lax Use of Magical Theory, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Miscommunication, POV Draco Malfoy, St Mungo's Hospital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:06:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10080659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RecIt_Ralph/pseuds/RecIt_Ralph
Summary: "It's bad. I know you two are broken up but Draco, if you want to see him, it's maybe going to be your last chance"





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is the 2nd fanfic I've ever written. Bit of a departure from my previous work with a whole lot of angsty confused Draco simultaneously having all the feels and none of the feels. 
> 
> It's rife with errors probably - I wrote it over a series of train journeys on my phone! 
> 
> Hope you like it anyway!

I'd just been sitting by the fireplace, a hot cup of tea next to me and the warmth of the open fire thawing my cold feet. It's been a mild winter by all accounts but December seemed to be making up for lost time suddenly. Everyone liked the novelty of a cold Christmas and ordinarily I would too, but I hadn't been feeling too Christmassy these past couple of years. But no - we're not thinking about that now. Nor ever. I was utterly exhausted - the goblins didn't give two shits that it was nearly Christmas. It was going on 8pm and I'd only just got home from work.

I forced myself to grab the novel I'd started reading off the coffee table and try to let it transport me to a different world. But no sooner had I turned to my bookmarked page, that the fire blazed and Daphne's face appeared in the hearth.

"Draco. It's Potter. He's here, and it looks bad" she kept talking but I stopped listening. My ears were ringing and my heart was thumping. Daphne's words were circling through my head as I sat there completely immobilised; the book falling from my numb fingers. She looked tired; she'd probably been on her feet for more than 12 hours at this point - her shift should have ended but I suppose something came up. Something like Harry fucking Potter, apparently. I remember joking with him that he should just start living at St Mungo's. Potter in the field was a constant liability - he thought with his gut, he acted with his gut. And who would even question it - that strategy won him a goddamn war aged 17, so clearly it worked. Besides, I had always been fucking grateful for his act-first-think-later instincts; it saved my life, gave me the opportunity to prove myself to the world, it's was what made him treat me with cautious optimism after the war, what made him accept my apology without demanding penance and what made him, 5 years after school, kiss me at that Ministry function two years ago and own up to it a day later. It had been the very foundation of our relationship - where my own calculations had been its demise. He'd been all impulse and instinct, doing whatever felt right to him and fuck if that wasn't scary. I had constantly felt wrongfooted in his presence. I could hear Daphne saying my name and I broke through the lull my brain had gone into. Harry. Something had happened to Harry. 

"It's bad. I know you two are broken up but Draco, if you want to see him, it's maybe going to be your last chance"

That did it. I was out of my chair like a shot. Suddenly, getting to Potter's side was the most important thing I could possibly do. I hadn't seen him a year, but I thought about him every fucking day in between. About his greener-than-green eyes, his impulsiveness. I had thought about all the moments we shared and the smiles and even the fights. How he'd held me like I was the most precious fucking thing and how he touched me like I was spun silver. Potter did everything with his whole heart and that had scared me for the entirety of our 10 months together. I'm not like that - I left him. And the fucking Gryffindor bastard let me go, confirming my fears that this relationship would be doomed to fizzle out. And maybe I wouldn't be able to come out of it in one piece if I let it run its course.

I told Daphne to step aside and spelled the fire dead. It was instantly colder. I grabbed some floo powder with shaking hands and floo'd directly into Daphne's office. She'd looked tired on the floo call but she looked absolutely wrecked in person. I would care but I didn't have it in me. "Where is he?" I asked her. She started moving and I fell in step. "Spell Damage" was all she said and my heart took on twice the speed of before. All manner of horrors went through my head - but what could be worse than having a Healer tell you it would be your last chance to see someone you care about? I ran the last few feet until I was in the ward - it wasn't hard to see where to go; there was a congregation of Aurors outside one of the private rooms. I nearly knocked over a Mediwizard carrying a tray of gauze. I heard the tray hit the floor but I didn't even look back. I saw Weasley at exactly the same moment as he saw me. And his face, more than anything else, was what told me the gravity of the situation. My heart clearly hadn't attached much merit to Daphne's assessment - but Weasley's tear stained face, so pale, you could have counted the freckles from ten paces away, spoke volumes.

His expression went from utterly tragic to angry in the space of a heart beat. He closed in on me, until there was less than a hair's breadth between us.

"how dare you come here, Malfoy?" He spat out. I felt spit hit my cheek.

Weasley was not worth my energy right now. I had to get to Potter. I told him as much. I saw fresh tears bloom in his eyes. My throat suddenly felt tight.

"You've no right to him, you sick fuck. Did you just wanna see him off, Malfoy? Is that why you're here?" He grabbed me by the collar then, which the rest of the insufferable Auror troupe took as prime time to intervene. I almost felt disappointed. His last words had cut into me like a slicing hex, physical pain would have been a welcome distraction. He didn't need much force though, the Aurors had barely to touch him and he'd let go of me. He'd gone willingly, the fight leaving him as quickly as it had come. I walked over to the door but an Auror I didn't recognise stopped me from going in. She looked almost apologetic, her brown eyes sincere as she told me what I absolutely didn't want to hear.

"There are Healers performing emergency surgery. You can't go in". Where was I meant to go? I came this far only to see Potter - not wait outside his room with his fucking fanclub. A group of men and women who were supposed to fucking protect each other but had let him end up in here with god knows what injuries. My throat was feeling tight again.

"Draco" I heard Daphne's voice a moment before I felt her hand on my shoulder. I hadn't realised I'd lost her behind somewhere until that moment. She took my hand and dragged me back to the waiting area and put a cup of something hot in my hand. I took a sip, burned my tongue but couldn't have given less of a fuck. My hands were shaking and my mind was supplying me with devastating images of Harry in near death scenarios; bones broken, blood pouring out of an open wound, severed limbs, worse. He'd survived two killing curses already - how much luck did he have left?

Daphne sat with me - her shift was over and she looked utterly exhausted and I knew I should send her home but I needed someone with me - to ground me to reality, before I disappeared into the fog of my own memories. We didn't talk. She just rubbed a hand consolingly up and down my back while I sat there, head bowed, a cup of tea turning cold clutched in my hands.

My mind went to our last day together. It had been just before Christmas last year and he'd returned from a successful raid at 4am and come straight to me. I should've been annoyed at being awoken but I hadn't seen nor heard from him in over a fortnight and that had made me very forgiving. He was thinner, he never ate properly on missions, and there was a jagged scar on his cheek, running from just by his ear, down to his jawline. I remember running my hand over the newly healed skin, thanking the gods that he'd come back relatively unharmed. He'd been frisky - he tended to be after successful missions.

I remember wanting to touch every part of him as he moved over me, slowly, savouring every thrust as if his sole aim was to have me incoherent with want and thrumming with pleasure. I'd run my hands over his torso, his arms, his face and his scars; the new one joining the old - the locket shaped brand between his collar bones, the lightning bolt on his forehead, the faint lines on the back of his hand, 'I must not tell lies', the multitude of little marks his career had gifted him. He'd just kissed me and kissed me and kept up that maddeningly slow pace until I couldn't bear it anymore. I'd moved my legs from around his waist to the bed spread, giving enough leverage to change our positions and leave me on top. I sped up and watched him disintegrate beneath me, eyes closed, lips pursed. When he opened his eyes, they were bright and staring straight into my soul. And then he said the thing that ruined us. I remember freezing in place and I remember the way he'd run his palms over my thighs and repeated my name over and over again. I had lifted off him, walked into my en suite, and locked the door behind me. I had heard him bang on the door repeatedly asking what he'd done wrong and why I'd stormed off and if I could let him in or come out but I'd just sat there - my world crashing all around me. Why did he have to ruin everything?

I'd been in there for god knows how long, but I'd known what had to be done. I needed to cut Potter loose. When I'd stepped out - wearing a bathrobe - he'd been fully clothed, sitting on the floor next to the bathroom door. He'd jumped up when he'd seen me. He tried to touch me but I'd just run away from him.

"Draco! Talk to me - what's wrong?"

"You've ruined everything - can't you see that?" I'd asked him accusingly.

"How? How is telling you I love you ruining everything?" He'd countered and hearing the words again had lead to fresh anguish.

"Why? Why the fuck would you say that?"

"It's how I feel. It's normal to feel this way, Draco - we've been seeing each other for 10 months"

"We've been fucking for 10 months, Potter - there's a difference."

He'd been angry. I remember the way his eyes had clouded first with surprise, then hurt and finally anger. He'd stalked towards me and I'd walked backwards to get away.

"It was more than that - and you know it" he'd said. And of course I'd known it but he was the Saviour of the Wizarding World and I was an ex Death Eater. Did he think we'd just walk off into the sunset and live happily ever after? He was a public figure and once the world got wind of this, that would be the end of us. And who knew - maybe by then I'd have fallen in love with him too. Then where would I be? So I'd just gone straight for the kill.

"Potter - just because you can't seem to separate a fuck from emotional attachment - doesn't mean the rest of us are the same. Our arrangement has clearly run its course and I would like you to leave"

He'd stood there mute and I needed him gone so I could mourn the loss in private. I'd taken a laundry basket from the bathroom, upended it and accio'd all of his belongings that had collected in my flat over the course of our... affair. All manner of clothing, a toothbrush, a hoody I'd "borrowed" because it was comfortable loungewear, books and quills and parchment flew into the basket and my heart had cracked a bit more. I'd handed him the bloody thing and told him to fuck off, returning to the bathroom and locking the door. I'd turned the tap on and waited, until I heard footsteps leaving the bedroom.

I drank myself into a stupor from the moment I'd stepped out of the bathroom to find my flat empty, til approximately 9 at night, when I'd firecalled Blaise and invited him out. We'd gone to the new gay club that had opened on Diagon, and I'd been more drunk going in than most people were coming out. I hadn't stayed in there very long, I'd gone straight for the dance floor - blissfully gyrating against a mass of writhing bodies, letting the booze and the music ease the ache in my heart. When I heard a bloke invite me to the loos - I just followed. He'd tried to get me interested but my body wasn't cooperating; likely a combination of alcohol and heart break. I'd taken him home anyway, apparating straight into my bedroom, dragging my nameless guest with me to the bed. I'd just let him have his way while I lay there trying to forget about Potter. It hadn't felt bad and eventually I think I had even been an active participant. At one point I thought I saw him in the doorway before my pleasure crested and my eyes involuntarily closed. When I opened them again the doorway was empty so I assumed I had just made it up.

The next morning I had woken up with my bed sheets rumpled but blissfully empty, my arse sore - my deeds from the previous night hurtling through my body and leaving me destroyed. I had felt sick and this time the tears had come and refused to stop. I got out of bed and took a shower so hot I felt my skin peel. I'd burned the bed sheets and just lain on the bed without laying new ones. I don't think I left my bed for the next week - Christmas came and went and I didn't even notice. My floo was locked, my house was warded against visitors. When I'd finally emerged from my exile in the new year - my mother had shouted at me for a full 10 minutes without seeming to even take a breath. Daphne, Pansy, Blaise, Theo - they had been no different - apart from Mother and Daph, no one else even knew about Potter and I, so Merlin knows what they must've thought when I'd just dropped off the face of the Earth. I often forget, in my own misery, that there are people who care about me. That's what pushed me to restart life, in the end. And it had mostly trundled along, until now.

Someone was calling my name and shaking me by the shoulders. I opened my eyes, wondering who could have possibly got into my flat. I cracked open one eye and saw Granger standing over me. That jolted me awake and I sat up. I'd been sleeping on two chairs joined together at the side - my back ached from the hard surface, my neck had a crick in it from the uncomfortable angle it was resting at. All of which was nothing compared to the sudden painful thud of reality as it hit me. Granger sat down in the chair I'd vacated, turning to face me. I saw Daphne asleep on a couple of chairs next to me and my heart constricted. I should have sent her home. I pulled on her leg, to wake her up. She was slow to rouse, and the guilt churned afresh inside me.

"Go home" I told her when she'd awoken.

"I can't leave you" she'd predictably answered back but I told her I'd be fine. I wasn't fine but in the end Daphne was a welcome presence but not one that would bring Harry back to me. Thinking of Harry brought a fresh wave of anguish and I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath. I opened them, told her again to leave and this time she agreed. She got up, gave me a kiss on the top of my head and a squeeze to my shoulder and then she was gone. I turned back to Granger.

"Hi" she said.

"Hi" I said back.

We sat in silence and I spent those two moments of quiet to study her. She looked a mess; her hair was up in a messy bun, her eyes bloodshot and her cheeks tearstained. I didn't know what time it was or how long she'd been here or even who told her where I was or why she wanted to find me. I hadn't spoken to Granger properly in years, maybe ever. And there were a thousand things I ought to say to her; sorry for being a prejudiced arsehole at school, sorry for calling you a Mudblood, sorry for the tortures my aunt inflicted on you while I stood there and watched - your screams ringing through my ears, sorry for being a fucking coward. Congratulations on the new job - being the youngest aide to the Minister is truly exceptional, congratulations on tying the knot - we all knew you and the Weasel were mad for each other. Thank you for keeping Potter alive for 7 years, thank you for winning the war, thank you for speaking at my trials. There was so much to say and I wanted to say it but today I had more important things on my mind. So when I finally spoke, it was to ask, "how is he?"

"Not good" she'd said and her eyes had filled with new tears. "Everyone...everyone's left. It's just Ron and me now so you can... you can come see him, if you want?"

My heart did a somersault. What I came here for all those hours ago (how many hours?). So many people had seen him and I was yet to lay eyes on him - I felt jealous and angry. I got up and she followed my lead. We both walked back towards Spell Damage. My feet slowed down the last few steps - I was so scared of what I'd find. The corridor looked empty and I couldn't tell which room was his without the team of Aurors. Granger walked ahead of me, and opened the door to one of the private rooms, holding it open for me to walk through. I walked past her and saw Harry for the first time in person in nearly 12 months. My eyes stung, my heart started hammering and I had to hold on to the door handle to keep from collapsing. Harry was in a stasis charm on the bed, a bubble charm breathing for him, his skin ashen and he looked so thin. There were deep cuts and bruises all over him. 5 different potions were being drip-fed into him. I recognised the deep red of a blood replenishing potion but the rest were alien to me. I walked closer and stood right over his bed - he looked peaceful; eyes shut, long lashes resting on his cheeks. Like he was asleep. Wake up I willed him. Wake up wake up wake up wake up but he just lay there. I turned to see Weasley in a chair by the corner, his head resting in his hands. He'd taken his Auror robes off and I saw now his arm was bandaged up pretty tightly. I hadn't even noticed when I'd seen him earlier. Granger was standing over him, her hand on his shoulder, looking at me warily. I walked over and sat in the chair one further from Weasley. The noise made him look up at me.

"I wanted you nowhere near him. Remember that Malfoy." He said, his voice broken. His wife sent a reprimanding "Ron" his way and he quietened down. I didn't know if Harry would want me here but there was no way I was leaving.

"What happened?" I asked then. It was the question burning through my gut even though what difference would it make? What happened was that Harry was laying unconscious on a bed not 2 feet away from me. No one answered me and I thought maybe I was meant to sit here in silence while the other two pretended I wasn't even there, until Weasley opened his mouth again.

"None of your fucking business, Malfoy" he spat out. And that was about as much of that that I was willing to take.

"What is your problem Weasel? I get it - you don't want a dirty Death Eater near your precious Potter but the war was 7 fucking years ago and maybe you ought to move on now".

"You think that's..." Weasley started off again "I don't care about the war you giant prick, you are the fucking reason that Har" he never got to finish that sentence because Granger shut him up with a shrill "Ron!" There was silence. And then she told him to get her a tea or something. He got up, wiped at his eyes and left the room, leaving me and Granger with an unconscious Harry.

"There was a prostitution ring he was investigating. They had a lead on where the girls were being kept and Harry went on a stakeout of the area. I guess he saw something or they did something - either way he blew his cover." Fuck. "Went after them. There were 10 of them versus one of him and he was captured. The Aurors only went searching when he wasn't back this morning. His partner came over and said he'd sent her back and she'd just listened because he's Harry Potter so why wouldn't she? We found him at the location but they'd been at him all night, Malfoy. God knows what tortures they inflicted." I felt like I was going to be sick. Even Granger was talking through tears at this point. "There was fighting, they held him for as long as they could, knowing he was their leverage. He was barely breathing when they got to him and he'd lost a lot of blood. The Healers.." she faltered. I gave her the handkerchief from my pocket, she looked grateful as she dabbed at her eyes with it. "They say it's anyone's guess. His organs are barely responding and he's lost so much blood. There are curses... we don't know what they are but they're eating at him from the inside. They heal one thing and something else starts shutting down."

I got up and ran to the bathroom, sicking up barely two seconds after I reached the toilet bowl. Stupid, insufferable, brave idiot. What had he done? What had they done to him? If I ever found any of the pricks that did this to him, I would happily tear them limb from limb - spend my days in Azkaban with no regrets. When I walked back out - Granger was where I'd left her. I took my place next to her again.

"Why was he on a stakeout on his own? Aren't that lot supposed to have partners with them at all times?"

Granger was quiet. Just when I was about to push, I heard Weasley at the door,

"It's a difficult time of year for him. He takes the dangerous cases and he doesn't give a fuck about his personal safety." He gave Granger a cup of tea and sat down next to her with his own.

I didn't know what to say to that - Potter had everything so why would he need to put his life on the line like that?

"Why?" I asked them. Why was it a difficult time, why was he taking dangerous cases, why everything. Potter was a decorated Auror - he shouldn't have been on stakeouts to begin with, let alone without any backup.

"Because you broke him, Malfoy." My heart stopped. "Ron, please" Granger pleaded but he cut her off with a "Mione, he might as well know what he's done." He turned to me then and I sucked in a breath at the intent in his eyes. If looks could kill, I would be dead on the floor.

"What did I do?" I was struggling to follow this conversation. I had nothing to do with this.

"He loved you and you left him. It hurt him, Malfoy." Fuck. My eyes whipped to the motionless body on the bed, did I do that? Surely not. I wouldn't know how to live with myself if I did.

"You knew?" I didn't even know Potter had told anyone about us. Although Weasley's earlier outbursts made much more sense now.

"Harry doesn't keep secrets from us. I just want you to know that as far as I'm concerned you couldn't have been more responsible if you'd been one of the arseholes who butchered him." He put his head in his hands again and the way his shoulders were shaking, it was clear the he was crying. I wanted to cry too, but my brain was too busy trying to decipher what had happened to co-operate. Granger had her arms around her husband and I just felt so fucking alone. I thought they'd make Potter choose between us - them or me. I knew where I stood in that equation; it was one of the reasons leaving him made sense. But he'd told them already. Why hadn't he told me? Why hadn't I asked? Suddenly, I had to get out of there. I walked through the doors, back out into the waiting room, and took a seat as far away from the door as possible.

I looked up at the clock on the wall - it was barely 11. It felt like that morning had been years ago and it wasn't even midnight. I don't know how long I sat there, staring at the wall. Potter never offered to introduce me to his friends, we hardly went out to dinner even. And when we did, it would be to Muggle restaurants. Mostly we used to eat in - we rarely wanted to leave the bedroom for very long when we were together. I hadn't even known what a takeaway was until Potter. He'd ordered Chinese food and it had arrived half an hour later, in little plastic boxes and I had wanted nothing to do with it. Harry had climbed into bed with me, and hand fed me delicious prawn and chive dumplings, dipped in soy sauce, with a murmured "you won't know unless you try, Malfoy". I had moaned in pleasure at the taste, and he had moaned in pleasure at my moan. I had definitely joined the pro-takeaway leagues after that. I still ordered those fucking dumplings from time to time. Just to keep that memory alive.

"Draco" Granger had hunted me down.

"I didn't know" I told her, my voice cracking and the tears that hadn't yet fallen were starting to well up in my eyes, trickling down my cheeks one at a time, "I didn't know he'd told anyone about us. It was self preservation." They were really falling now and I felt like I couldn't breath. Heaving sobs were wracking through me, and all I could say was "I didn't know" like a broken record, over and over again. I must've made a pitiable sight because she put her arms around me, like she'd done with Weasley. I'd never even spoken to her properly and still I turned into her shoulder. Still mumbling the same words, "I didn't know" I didn't fucking know. And now I did but he was in there - his body shutting down.

"Go home, Malfoy" she told me. "We're with him. Go eat something, get some rest. You can come again tomorrow."

How was I supposed to eat, with my stomach in knots? Harry was going to die and it was my fucking fault - I'd always been a coward and now he was about to pay the price. Still I got up, allowing Granger to lead me to the floos. I'd be back in a few hours. I just needed to rest up and shower and then I'd be back.

"You'll call me, if anything changes, won't you Granger?" I'd asked her just before leaving. She'd nodded.

"I promise."

I only intended to be gone for a few hours but I wanted to make sure I was in the loop. I'd stepped through into my dark, cold living room, walked past the kitchen and into the bedroom and fell onto bed - without even bothering to undress. About 6 months into our relationship, we'd been in bed one Sunday morning, reading the Prophet. Harry had the sports pages and I'd had the newspaper proper. It had felt so domestic. I'd read a statistic about Auror deaths and it had shaken me. I'd turned to him and read it out,

"It is estimated that 55% of Auror deaths are on-duty, with a staggering 6% of Auror deaths the result of suicide."

He'd looked at me and just grinned, "didn't know you cared, Malfoy"

I hadn't been amused. And he could tell because his grin dropped. He'd put his paper aside and climbed over on top of me. He'd held my face gently between his broad palms and kissed me. Not a passionate prelude to sex, just a peck.

"I'm careful. I promise. I have so much to live for, I don't think I'd ever knowingly jeopardise that." There was sincerity in his voice that had scared the shit out of me. When he kissed me again, I stuck my tongue down his throat, turning us over so I was on top. I'd kissed his lips, his throat, the locket scar, until his agenda had shifted and I could breath a sigh of relief. I knew where we stood when we fucked. It was the feelings that tended to leave me confused.

He'd fucking lied though. He'd gone on a stakeout without backup and blown his cover. He hadn't been careful and he was close to being a part of that abhorrent statistic. I got out of bed and went to my potions cabinet. I took a bottle of Dreamless Sleep and swallowed a tablespoon worth - that would see me through the next couple of hours. I took off my shoes and climbed under the covers. Sleep overtook me and I went easily into its embrace.

I woke up 3 hours later with my arms locked tightly around a pillow. Obviously my subconscious telling me something because I hadn't had another person in my bed since Harry left. I mean - I'd had shags of course, but no one ever stayed the night. That seemed intimate. Even Harry hadn't stayed the night until maybe 3 months in. It had been after another mission where he'd just been MIA for a week. We were still new-ish then. I'd been shit scared but I didn't know if I had any right to know if he was okay, or who I was supposed to call to find out more. Then one day he'd just firecalled and I'd all but dragged him through the floo into my living room. I'd run my hands all over him, searching for injury, but he'd just batted me away. "I'll be fine" he'd said - again and again. Not "I am fine" just that he would be. We'd barely talked that night. I'd dragged him to bed and cast a strong lumos above us before taking his clothes off. He'd had deep bruises all over his torso and I'd just stared at him in horror and still he'd just said "I'll be fine". That night - we were wrapped so close together, you wouldn't have been able to tell where one of us finished and the other began. He'd burrowed his head into my shoulder, leaving featherlight kisses on my neck and my chin, as his body moved over me. His solid weight grounded me - made me feel whole and relief poured through me with every powerful thrust. He was here, he was fine. Afterwards, as we lay there catching our breath, there had been no question of him leaving. He'd spooned behind me, thrown an arm over my side and pulled me into himself. My sated body felt boneless and I'd easily gone wherever he took me. We'd woken up like that - nestled in each other's arms. I didn't want to share that with anyone else. No one else deserved that.

I showered quickly, changing into a cotton shirt, sleeves rolled up, and black trousers - warming spells at St Mungo's were always a touch on the too-warm side. I headed straight back to St Mungo's, after forcing a handful of stale crackers down my throat, washing them down with tea. The receptionist on night duty wanted nothing to do with me though - she'd seen me leave earlier, I'm sure, but somehow between then and now, she'd decided I wasn't to be allowed in. It was only when I saw her eyes flit to my arm, that I realised what the issue was. Like she needed to see a fucking dark mark to know who I was, or what I'd been - as if my hair and my features weren't doing that already. Somehow, even with Voldemort dead and rotting in hell, the ugly tattoo's power hadn't wavered. I pulled my sleeve down hastily - keeping my voice plaintive so as not to seem confrontational, when I asked to be let through again. Ought to have just saved my breath; she didn't even have the decency to look apologetic when she spewed some nonsense about not taking visitors so late at night. I saw Weasley heading to the tea stand out of the corner of my eye and called out to him. I saw him freeze in place, his back towards me, intending to ignore me and keep walking no doubt. He turned around though, thank fuck.

"Weasley can you please let Ms" I looked down at the cow's badge "Bannerjee know that I am allowed into Potter's room outside visiting hours?" He'd looked hesitant - which is no fucking surprise, given he hadn't wanted me around to begin with. I was going through the merits of making a run for it, when I heard his voice call out, "he's fine to go in Shruti. Please add him to the list, thanks". Shruti looked annoyed and I probably looked smug for the split second I was still standing there before I ran through. I called a thank you to Weasley on my way.

In Potters room, Granger looked to be asleep on one of the uncomfortable chairs, her head propped on one of her hands, elbow on the armrest. Potter looked the same, laying motionless - a charm doing the breathing for him. His drips had been replenished though. I was careful to keep quiet the two steps to the bed. I looked down at his face - he could've been asleep. I wanted to touch him - the scar, looking extra stark against his pale skin. He'd always looked sun kissed - all those hours spent outdoors. The golden, over the flush of his face had made him look healthy and alive; now it just looked unnatural against the bloodless backdrop. Fuck, Potter - you drama queen, get up for fuck's sake. I wanted to hold his hand, feel the heat run through it - to know he was alive, but with the stasis charm, there was no way I could.

I sat down on the chair nearest his bedside, Weasley's I assumed. I thought back to his happy, healthy, face - how I wanted to remember it. At Teddy's birthday parties when he'd chase Teddy around the house, Aunt Andromeda begging them to be careful, the rest of us taking shelter in the nooks and crannies to avoid being crashed into. How he'd catch Teddy, lift him into the air and swing him around, Teddy's laughs barely decipherable from Harry's own. Inevitably he'd have to turn into a makeshift fairground ride, offering twirls to innumerable Weasley sprog one at a time, before doing it all again. I'd just sit there, my lip curled in disgust, even as my insides melted at the blind adoration and joy on his face. On the one birthday when we'd been seeing each other, he'd sometimes catch my eye and wink or grin and I'd blush uncontrollably. There was no justice if a man like that didn't get to see his nieces and nephews grow up; there would be no greater joy for him.

I heard Weasley return but I didn't turn around. I heard him settle next to his wife, still I did not turn around. I wanted to thank him again but I didn't want to wake Granger up, so I kept quiet. It was warm, especially so close to Potter's stasis charm, but I didn't plan on making the same mistake as earlier. God knows how Weasley would react if he got a glimpse of the damned thing. Or worse - a Mediwizard or Healer. Normally I was very aware of it - of keeping it hidden. But my mind was on other things - I hadn't really thought about what I was doing. Very few folk I'd come across hadn't balked at the sight of it. The goblins couldn't give less of a shit, of course - it didn't impair my ability to count, so it wasn't worth a second thought. Just as well, or I would have been jobless. Even Saint Potter had cared. Although he'd tried endearingly hard to get past it. I'd tried to keep it hidden the first time he'd ever come home with me. He saw what I was doing but he hadn't stopped me - in fact he'd looked grateful. I remember the shame warring with the lust - wanting to stop but also continue. He'd either face me away from him, or keep my shirt on, or hold his own hand over it. I knew what was happening but I was so utterly in his power, I wasn't going to end it - even if I did hate myself afterwards. Then, a month into our... whatever it was we were doing, something shifted. I'd been at the Leaky with Daphne and Potter had sauntered in with his posse of Gryffindors. We'd just made eyes at each other all evening. I could feel his eyes burning a hole through the back of my head all night. Even Daphne had noticed. I'd gone into the loos to compose myself and Potter had just followed me in, thrown a strong locking charm at the door and thrown me against the sink before kissing me senseless. Right there in the grimy Leaky toilets, our boots sticking to fuck knows what on the linoleum floors. "Say your goodbyes and meet me outside" he'd whispered against my neck before heading out the door like nothing was wrong. I'd told Daphne I had urgent Gringotts business and rushed off - she'd looked not even remotely convinced but my brain wasn't quite operating at full capacity. We'd apparated straight to my bedroom and Potter had me naked and spread across my bed half a second later. I'd turned around, automatically, but he'd put his arm on my shoulder "not like that" he'd said. He'd turned my body back towards him, and I'd put my arm between my back and the bed and again, he'd held it and yanked it into vision.

"I don't want this to bother me. It's a part of you. It's a scar, Malfoy. I have them too" he'd said and I'd felt like he'd torn me apart and put me back together again. From then on, there had been no question of hiding it. I still hated the fucking thing, don't get me wrong. It reminded me of the worst part of my life - but I'd appreciated it all the same.

I didn't realise I was playing wth my sleeve until I heard Weasley mutter from behind me, "ugly fucking thing, isn't it?"

I couldn't help myself - I let out a laugh. I looked at him and he had a half smile playing around his lips. Granger still blissfully asleep.

"Thank you, Weasley. For letting me see him. I know you didn't want to"

"I didn't. Still don't." he said. "But for some reason, I reckon Harry would've liked you around. So here you are. Don't read into it much - I still hate your pointy face."

"Noted" I whispered, turning back to Harry. Would you want me here?

I had dozed off, sitting next to him, until sounds from the hallway woke me up. I could see the blueish tint of twilight through the window so clearly it was morning. A quick tempus revealed 6am. I turned to see what the noise was, just as a mob of Weasleys entered the room; well, Mama and Papa Weasley and Ginevra, in any case. They froze upon seeing me and I really didn't know how this was meant to go. I looked around for Granger or Weasley to bail me out but the room was empty, aside from the new visitors and myself. And Potter, of course. My eyes traveled from one to the other and I couldn't have said a word if I tried. I didn't know if they knew why I was here but this really wasn't the time to be letting secrets slip, in case they didn't.

"What are you doing here?" Ginevra asked and I didn't have an answer to that on any level. What was I doing here? Punishing myself, pandering to myself? I didn't even know. Before I could answer, Weasley was back, thank Merlin.

"Mum! Dad!" He called from the doorway and they turned around to him. In the next second there was a gargantuan ginger embrace as they all tried to find comfort in one another. I took the opportunity to slink out of the room. 6 was a bit too many for the room, especially if 4 of them were Weasleys. Outside, I bumped into Granger.

"I'm um.. there are visitors. Mr and Mrs Weasley, and Ginevra. I think it's best I should go"

Her eyes widened on the news but she nodded in agreement, "I think that's probably best, Draco. Molly and Arthur don't know... about you and Harry." I had guessed as much, but it still hurt a little bit to be relegated to second tier. I wasn't sure how I was meant to function, exactly, but I'd figure it out. She looked absolutely knackered though. She'd been here 9 or so hours at this point.

"You should go home" I told her. "Get some rest."

She nodded at that too, "I will. Thanks Malfoy"

"When you come back, if it's possible for me to come, could you owl me? And if there's any update from the Healers? I'd like to...visit. Again." I threw in a "please" for good measure. Granger's eyes were kind and she nodded. "Promise" she said again, like the last time she'd seen me off at the floos, approximately 7 hours ago. I whispered a quick thank you before heading off.

I stepped into my bedroom, and mechanically went through the motions of getting ready for bed. I swallowed two spoonfuls of Dreamless Sleep and collapsed. Maybe I'd wake up to find it was all a dream, and Harry would be next to me, attempting the Wizards Crossword in the Prophet and failing spectacularly. Last night would have been the figment of an overactive imagination and the last year would never have happened. There was a smile on my face as I fell asleep.

When I awoke, it was midday. I jumped straight into the shower, intending to go to Potter immediately. I stepped out of the bathroom to an incessant tapping at the window. There was a brown owl I didn't recognise hovering outside. I walked over to the window and let it in; I nabbed the note on it's way to Salazar's perch. Salazar had likely gone to the Manor owlery when he'd come back from his nightly hunt and found me either asleep or not there to let him in. Had he been around, it's unlikely he'd have liked to share. I shook out the note,

'Draco,  
Plenty of family and friends are here. Would recommend you come later tonight. I'll owl you.

H. Granger'

My hands were shaking from both anger and resentment. Anger because I'd once again been reminded that I was secondary, and resentment because the Weasleys could just waltz in there like they fucking owned the place. Granger had put a fat 8-10 hours til I could lay eyes on Harry again. Just when I was beginning to like her. How I was meant to occupy myself - I didn't know. A cold wind from the open window made me aware of my state of undress. I turned to the brown owl, eating out of Salazar's bowl like he hadn't just delivered the Letter of Doom. I grabbed a quill and parchment and penned a quick note, telling Granger she'd find me at the Manor and to owl as soon as the ginger brigade fucked off. Then I sent the beast on its way, closed the window and went to change. I hoped my mother wasn't ill disposed to visitors.

I floo'd into one of the visitor's wings and walked over to my mum's side of the Manor. After the war, she'd just renovated a part of the property we had rarely used - all the main areas had deeply unpleasant memories attached to them; the floating body of Professor Burbage in the dining room, Granger's screams in the living room, the Dark Lord in my parents' bedroom. Waking up in the middle of the night to find Fenrir sitting at my study table, smiling that feral smile. I had told her to just pack up the fucking place, but with Father in Azkaban, staying in his family home gave her some comfort I couldn't begin to understand. I walked quickly through into my mother's wing. I found her in the dining room, having lunch and conversing with Uncle Cygnus' portrait.  
"Mother" I said to get her attention. She looked at me in surprise - I rarely called unannounced these days. Then her eyes filled with concern and pity - she'd heard then. Excellent. My mother was a Malfoy though - she didn't wear her emotions on her sleeve. She pushed a chair out for me and offered a calm, "Draco - I wasn't expecting you. Come sit, have you eaten?" I took the chair, shaking my head no. I was grateful - the past 17 hours had been entirely too emotional for me.

"Beany!" Mum called, and one of her house elves made an appearance. "Could you set a place for Master Draco, please?" Beany got to work immediately and a bowl of hot soup and a side of cold salad made an appearance in front of me. Split pea. My favourite. I looked at my mother accusingly. Like hell, she wasn't expecting me. I could bet if I made Beany run through the menu from breakfast to dinner I'd find it to be a selection of my favourites. She looked back, keeping her face impassive. I didn't thank her, I'd been thanking people too much lately and I may be a changed man but sincerity still burned on the way out.

I tried to drink as much of the soup as I could. My appetite, unfortunately, hadn't returned but needs must. Uncle Cygnus kept a steady stream of chatter going. I wasn't the best company but I spoke when spoken to; often in response to some rant about "those dastardly goblins". He hated them because he hadn't managed to undo the financial restraints his father had put on his account so he wouldn't gamble it all away. I refrained from mentioning, if the goblins hadn't been so adamant in their diligence, the Malfoys probably would have become destitute 5 generations ago. I pushed the bowl away from me - I was starting to feel a bit sick. I tried a tomato from the salad and when my stomach tried to argue back, I pushed that away too. Mother was likely looking at me disapprovingly but she didn't say anything, bless her. One of few perks of having a school-rival-turned-ex-lover-you-never-got-over in hospital with a deadly illness - you could leave food on your plate. When Mother got up, I followed suit. We retired to her living room; she took a seat by the blazing fire, a blanket floated over and settled on her legs. I settled on the sofa opposite. From the outside, it probably looked like she didn't know how to comfort, but I was soothed just in her company. We sat like that for a few minutes and when she spoke, it was quiet. Gentle.

"I trust you know you can talk to me, if you need to"

"I know." I replied, "thank you Mummy"

She nodded once, and then broke into some story of what Teddy had done on his last visit to the Manor. Mother had taken to my young cousin, despite the fact that he was nothing like me or how she'd raised me to be. Teddy was messy, loud - constantly in a hurry for the next exciting thing. He was vocal about what he liked (ice cream) and what he didn't (reading), who he liked (Beany) and who he didn't (Fleur). In many ways, Teddy seemed to fit his godfather to a T and you couldn't even believe that he had Black blood running in his veins. And yet still my mother was utterly taken with him. I remember being told to play in my room and not venture out for fear I'd break something precious as a child. Teddy ran freely through the Manor - I'd venture he'd probably caused more financial loss to us by way of broken antiques than even old Cygnus. I suppose all this meant was that my upbringing had been shaped more by Lucius, than my mum. I listened to my mum's story with half an ear, allowing her mellow lilt to wash over me. It felt like running cold water over a burn.

I stayed at Mum's most of the day; we played wizarding chess and talked of work and Teddy. She tried to suggest I move back home as she'd done every time I visited since I moved out a year after the war. What we didn't do was talk about the erumpent in the room. I wrote a letter to Gringotts, requesting leave of absence for the week ahead. I doubted they would kick up a fuss, I haven't taken a single day off in the 3 years I've worked for them. The hours ticked by and still I received nothing from Granger. She better not have forgotten about me. I'm fairly certain Gryffindors must spontaneously combust if they break a promise and she had promised she'd let me know.

"Excuse me for a moment, Mother" I said, before heading into her floo room. I quickly dialled Daphne, hoping she'd be in her office. I found her at her desk, thank Merlin.

"Daphne" I called. She looked up and I was pleased to see how rested she looked. She looked up at me and smiled, walked over and knelt before the fireplace.

"Draco! How are you?"

I grimaced at the question. She instantly looked contrite. "Sorry" she said, but I waved her apology off. I'd hardly called to exchange niceties anyway.

"I'm doing well, considering. How is he, do you know?"

Her face answered the question a lot better likely than her words would. My heart sank. I'd seen him less than 12 hours ago - people didn't go from how he'd been to sitting up, having a chat in 12 hours - so I didn't know what the fuck I'd hoped she'd say. I could see Daphne, my friend, warring with Healer Greengrass. I didn't know which version of her I wanted, to be honest - did I want empty words of placation - we're doing everything we can etc. etc. or did I want honesty?

"Just tell me" I said, displaying a rare moment of courage.

She nodded. "It's not good, Draco." She confirmed. My heart was somewhere in my socked feet at this stage, "he's been under the wand twice more already - it's not his heart yet but it's only a matter of time. Soon as they fix an organ, another starts to shut down."

My throat was closing up. I tried to talk but it was more of a rasp. I coughed to clear it then tried again, "do they know what the curse was?"

"I don't think so? I'm not privy to the particulars, I'm sorry"

I nodded. "Who's with him now?"

"There have been so many people coming and going all day - I think I saw Longbottom and Lovegood an hour or so ago?"

That made sense - Harry was big on relationships and keeping his family and friends close. So of course his room would be teeming with people in a situation like this. I mean, it was fucking annoying to be honest - at least I knew Granger likely hadn't forgotten about me - Potter just had too many visitors. Hopefully when visiting hours closed in approximately - I cast a quick tempus - 2 hours, I would be able to go see him. Weasley had authorised my access after all. Admittedly, there must've been a great many people who were on the list but if in 3 hours I walked in and saw the entire Weasley brood, I'd just walk straight in anyway. He wasn't getting any better and I wanted to be by his side.

"Are you taking care of yourself?" She asked me. Was I? I didn't know. So I just prevaricated instead,

"I'm at Mother's" I told her, as if that was what she'd asked. She looked both relieved and unconvinced but after knowing each other as long as we have, I knew she wouldn't probe. Like that time I stepped out of the Leaky loos looking snogged to fucking death, told her I'd needed to get back to work on a bloody Friday evening and wandered off half drunk into the night. She hadn't asked me anything until about a fortnight later and even then, all she'd said was "so you and Potter eh? Figures" and just like that, we'd started pretending she'd known all along.

3 hours later, I stood outside Potter's door, getting myself ready to go in. If it contained anyone other than Granger, Weasley or Head Weasleys with Girl-Weasley; I would pretend I had the wrong room and then feign surprise at coming across the unconscious body of the saviour. If I encountered Head Weasleys or their daughter, I would say Harry and I had struck a cautious friendship over the years. That's plausible, I'm sure - he's meant to be All Things Good and Great - maybe he liked to help reformed Death Eaters integrate back into society or some such shite. It was a good plan - so why was I standing outside the door instead of going in? The door handle suddenly started turning even as I stood there and I practically ran to the end of the corridor, casting a quick disillusionment charm as I went. I saw, of all fucking people, bloody McGonnagal walk out with Granger and Longbottom. A less chubby, more physically fit and actually rather good looking Longbottom. Really, what on earth was the matter with the world? A second after that the very distinct shape of Hagrid stepped out, crouching low to get through the door. He looked an utter mess, his eyes red and swollen; noticeable even from my distance. A sodden handkerchief the size of a grown man's shirt was held to his face as fresh tears continued to fall. Fuck - had something happened? I felt a cold sweat break out as I waited for them to leave. They chatted for what felt like an hour but was likely about 5 minutes, then thankfully McGonnagal, Longbottom and Hagrid were on their way and I ventured closer to the room. Granger went back inside but left the door open with a pointed look in my direction - fuck. I wonder if the rest knew I was there too. Maybe that's what they were all talking about. Half apprehension, half embarrassment - I walked straight in through the open door.

Weasley was sitting in my seat by Potter's bedside, reading out Quidditch commentary. He was talking to him like he wasn't just an unconscious form on the bed. Granger was transfiguring chairs back into their original forms - a potted plant and a foot stool. The room looked completely different from last night - there was a Christmas tree in the corner, twinkling lights all the way up it, fairies flying around it, and a multitude of colourful packages sitting at its base. There were clumsy children's drawings next to the bed, on the side table, on the walls, hanging from the tree. Pictures of family and friends hung on walls all around. It looked... warm. And homely. And Potter would fucking love it, if he ever got a chance to see it.

"Like what you've done with the place" I said out loud,

Granger smiled a little smile. "Thanks. Once we started, was almost impossible to stop."

Weasley let out an ungainly snort, "Harry's lucky he's under a stasis charm - Mum wanted to stick him in some homemade knits for a bit of festive cheer..."

I laughed and they joined in a bit. The mood was definitely lighter if they were willing to joke around with someone they hated. Or at least one of them hated. Maybe it was just because the room was a bit brighter. It wasn't because Potter was getting better. In fact, he'd actually got worse, according to Daphne.

"Can you imagine that, mate?" Weasley turned to look at Potter, "having to lie there while Mum forces a Christmas jumper on you a full 10 days early? As if life's not shitty enough, eh?" Predictably, there was no response.

"You're talking to him..." I inanely pointed out.

Granger spoke this time, "he's in a stasis charm so his breathing can be regulated and so that there's minimum distress if he has to... if he has to go under the wand again. The Healers say he can hear us though. Probably not understand us, or anything. But it might be comforting. To know he's not alone."

I'm not sure how I felt about him knowing I was here. For all that I was truly sorry about how things ended between us - I hadn't actually, up until that moment, intended to apologise. I wanted to ask about what was happening in the hunt for the perpetrators but if there was a chance Harry could hear us, it probably shouldn't be done in his room.

"Granger, may I have a word with you outside?" I ventured. Definitely didn't want Weasley. It was a bit of a game of Russian Roulette with Weasley - am I going to get Angry, Vengeful Best Friend Who Wanted To Hit Me Over The Head or Civil Best Friend Trying To Share The Pain. It was a good call if the way Weasley stared me down was any indication,

"Oh calm down, Ronald. He's not inviting me out to murder me." She said, getting up.

I smiled - I very much suspected I might grow to like Granger if I let myself.

"Rest assured, Weasel. When it comes to bodily harm, the score reads 1-0 to Granger"

"You deserved that much, Malfoy" Granger said to which all I could respond was, "Completely agree. Surprised you didn't do more"

Granger laughed at that, and even Weasley cracked a smile. Maybe even Potter laughed in his head, who knew?

Weasley appeared much calmer now that I'd brought a memory of his wife punching me in the nose to the forefront of his mind. I allowed her to follow me out into the hallway before I asked my question regarding the Auror search for Harry's torturers.

"It's not public information, Malfoy, I'm afraid. I'm sure if I tried saying anything - my tongue would literally get tied in knots. Ron's not on the case anymore - he was reckless during the search for Harry yesterday and ended up getting hit in the arm. Robards thinks he's a liability but Ron only agreed to that on the proviso that he be kept in the loop. I'm just benefiting from spousal privileges at this point. All I can say is that they need to catch them in order to find out what curse was used on Harry. Its likely the only way he lives at this point."

And are they close? Do they know where to look? Is there any fucking hope? I already knew this much, I needed more information. I'm unsure whether I said any of this out loud or whether my face just read like an open book at this point because she looked truly apologetic. Suspecting no new information was forthcoming, I turned back towards the room.

I nearly tripped in the doorway and felt arms grab me from behind before I fell. She helped me stand upright and just as I was about to thank her, I saw her wand peeking out of her sleeve. The bint fucking tripped me! I opened my mouth to give her a sound telling off, no heed for her Auror boyfriend trained in combat duelling sitting not 10 paces away, but she spoke first.

"That was close, Malfoy. Really close. Lucky I was here to catch you. Suspect you would have been quite bruised by tonight otherwise."

Oh. OH. Tonight. The Aurors were planning a raid tonight - possibly even right this second. They were close. Harry might live. Fuck.

I mouthed a thank you to Granger before heading back in. Weasley was still reading out Quidditch commentary and scores injected with obscene amounts of false cheer. Made a lot more sense if coupled with stress about the Auror mission he wasn't a part of. I went and took a seat by the wall, Granger walked over to her husband.

"Honestly mate - could see the fucking snitch from the back end of nowhere, but Gibbons just casually flew right past it. I don't know why we bother. With the Cannons in such prime lack of form, wouldn't blame you if you wanted to stay unconscious a while longer."

"Ron - take a walk with me" Granger spoke. Weasley looked surprised but got up anyway. "You've got this handled, right Malfoy? We'll only be 10 minutes or so" she smiled at me. I don't think my brain could handle any more positive feelings towards Gryffindors in general and Hermione Granger-Weasley in particular but there you go. I moved to the chair Weasley had vacated as soon as they were out the door. I got my first good look at Potter. He was sporting a light beard after so long without a shave. I remember it didn't take his hair long to grow. He once told me as a child it used to grow overnight after his aunt used to hack it off. I wasn't surprised, it had confirmed my long held suspicion that his hair was a living, breathing magical beast. Very soft to touch though. Delightful to run ones hands through. Not that I'd ever say that aloud. He looked thinner and paler. He was wearing a pair of red, plaid pyjamas instead of the hospital gown I'd seen before - not sure whether this was one of Mrs Weasley's efforts to make him more festive or St Mungo's.

"Can you actually hear me?" I asked him. Maybe his eyelids fluttered or maybe I made that up. I didn't know what to say to him or what to do. I picked up the paper Weasley had been reading from and opened the agony aunt columns. Harry had enjoyed these. I remember him reading out choice bits to me over breakfast or sometimes before we'd even got out of bed in the morning. I skimmed through in search of one Harry would like, and came across a story of a Ms Totally Embarrassed who tried to spell her voice huskier because her boyfriend said he found that sexy, and ended up with a frog croak instead. I read it out loud but the silence, once I was done, was deafening to my ears. I put the paper back. I couldn't do this. I was too weak to deal with this. And the guilt of maybe having a part to play in this was altogether too crippling.

"You should have come back" I said, accusingly. It's the first time I'd voiced that sentiment, and it was drenched in emotion, when it came out. "Fuck you and your morals. You never listen to anyone, why would you listen then? You should have just come back to me."

"He did" I heard from the door. I turned around, wild-eyed. Weasley was standing in the door, apparently having lost his wife during a 10 minute walk around a hospital ward.

"Excuse me?" I said - wiping at the tears I hadn't known were there. "That was private" I said, indignantly.

"Sorry" he wasn't sorry at all, the lying bastard. "He came to us after you two broke up and he was so cut up Malfoy; confused and sad and just so fucking pathetic. We told him to talk to you about it. To give you another shot at explaining what you were on about ending it like that. He went back, Malfoy. He was gone for hours and when he came back, he'd been different like... I don't know, like the fight had left him. He never told us what happened but he said it was over and that was it."

My heart was trying to pump straight out of my chest. When I brought that stranger home, I thought I'd seen Potter in the doorway. He had been there - that wasn't my imagination. He had come back only to find me shagging someone else not even 24 hours since we'd broken up. I felt like I was going to sick up. How do you explain to a bloke like Potter, who wears his heart on his sleeve, why someone would do what I did? How do you tell them it's not a lack of feeling but rather too much of it? Oh god, oh fucking Merlin and Morgana what had I done? To us? To me? I couldn't breathe, my hand flew to my throat. My head was spinning. I couldn't see properly.

"Malfoy! Malfoy" I heard someone speaking at me. Who was that? A ginger blur, Weasley then. "I'm fine" I tried to say, but no sound came out. Oxygen, I needed oxygen. Suddenly I felt a strong calming breeze hit me right in the face - it smelled of parchment, freshly made hot chocolate, Potter's shampoo. It smelled of my mothers perfume. I felt my airways clear and I took a deep breath. I opened my eyes and saw Weasley staring owlishly at me, kneeling next to my chair.

"You were having a panic attack" he said

"Yes" I croaked. "Thank you - for the calming spell" I added for good measure. I took the glass of water he offered, my hands shaking as I lifted it to my lips.

"It's okay." He said, almost kindly.

Just then, we heard a throat clear - a uniformed Auror stood at the door; I recognised her from last night - she'd stopped me going inside Potter's room.

"Auror Weasley" she said. She looked at me cautiously and I was just about to get up to leave when Weasley put a hand on my shoulder and nodded for her to go on. "I've no clearance to speak of these things with individuals outside the investigation, sir." She said cautiously. I got up to leave again but again, Weasley stopped me. "If it's the outcome of the investigation I suspect it is, there is no need for privacy. Either end the secrecy charm or take Malfoy inside - but let him hear what you've to say." I was surprised, to say the least. Weasley was meant to hate me, why was he letting me in on this? The Auror looked torn, but then with a quick nod, she waved her wand - she shimmered, as did Weasley. Ended the charm, then. "We've apprehended the suspects. We need your help getting the paperwork expedited on questioning under Veritaserum."

Suddenly a flare of hope burned so bright in my gut, I fell back into my chair with a thud; water sloshing in the glass I still held. My eyes flew to the lifeless body on the bed. They were one step closer to finding the counter curse for whatever Potter had been hit with. Weasley had flown out of the room, right after sending Granger a Patronus and throwing a "stay with him" at me. I just sat there feeling relief and hope and not an insignificant amount of anger towards those apprehended. It was just me in the room again. Potter looking clueless to the developments around us, the tree twinkling merrily in the corner. I looked at a drawing on the wall nearest me. There was Potter - or rather a roughly person-shaped blob, with a shock of messy black hair and green eyes. He was either astride a broom, or had a rather bushy tail. Given the blue background and clouds, I assumed the former. There was a second Potter - a littler Potter flying behind Big Potter. Teddy often changed appearance so that he was as close an approximation to his godfather as possible, so it didn't take a genius to deduce that the Little Potter was my young cousin. He was 6, too young for a proper broom but I surmise they'd perhaps talked about it and the rest was imagination. The memories of flying with Potter were vivid in my mind. Those Quidditch games were nearly always rife with hatred and competition but there was no denying that Potter in the air was poetry in motion. The bastard had been a natural on a broom and beneath the jealousy and competition, I was always impressed.

"If you make it out of this, Potter" I said out loud, "maybe we can go flying?"

Potters still form neither agreed nor disagreed with me.

"You probably don't know this, but they've apprehended your torturers. You were hit by a pretty dark curse, Potter. They're hoping to get a counter curse out of them and then you'll be on your merry way out of here - all full of insufferable optimism and good cheer." Except apparently he hadn't been that version of himself for some time.

"Weasley says you've been going after the dangerous cases because you're suffering from a broken heart. Honestly, Potter - you won a fucking war. You killed Voldemort. And what? A little heart ache was enough to floor you? I'm not anything, Potter. Less than that even. I'm a nobody and I shouldn't hold this kind of power over you, that's utter bollocks" I realised I was getting a bit impassioned in my speech but the words were flowing out without my control, at this point. "What would it have mattered if I'd said I loved you too that day, hmm? Would that have rewritten our pasts? No, of course not. I will always be a Death Eater and you will always be the Wizarding World's golden boy. You put my father in Azkaban, I nearly killed your best friend. I let Death Eaters into Hogwarts, Potter - everyone you lost in that Battle was because of me. By rights you should hate me, I should fucking hate you too. Even when we stopped hating each other, the best we could have had was what we did have, until you decided to fucking ruin it. You understand what I'm saying don't you, Potter? My loving you would have only brought me anguish and I need to live out the rest of my life without that kind of pain, you understand? Do you understand?" I was kneeling over his prone body, at this point. I don't know when I got into this position or what I was expecting but that's where I found myself. "Do you understand?" I repeated, in a cautious whisper. I looked at his closed eyelids, his lips. I looked at his scar - so stark against his pale face. I lifted my hands from where they'd settled on either side of his body, moving back to my chair when suddenly a beeping went off in the room. I looked up in alarm just when a number of mediwizards rushed in.

They crowded round his prone body; lifting the stasis charm. As soon as it was off - Potter started writhing. "What's wrong with him?" I asked. Nobody responded. I tried again, louder. I didn't know what was happening but suddenly I was being pushed out of the room. I saw a Healer rush in and cast a vitals check just as the door closed in front of me and I was in the relative silence of the hallway. I wanted to demand answers but I knew I couldn't - I needed someone here the Healers would talk to. Unfortunately, I had no claim on the patient and would be told summarily to fuck off if I tried to glean information. All I knew was that something had gone wrong and I had to get news to Granger and Weasley. I cast my mind to a happy memory and tried to conjure a Patronus but a pathetic wisp of silver trickled out the end of my wand. I was too anxious. I aimed my wand at myself and cast a calming spell. I felt the impact immediately but I knew it wouldn't last so I quickly attempted to search my mind for something suitably cheery - Potter feeding me dumplings in bed, "you won't know unless you try, Malfoy". I cast and the ghastly ferret I absolutely hated came hurtling out of the tip of my wand.

"Find either Hermione Granger or Ronald Weasley - Potter's got worse, Healers are with him now. I don't know more, please come quickly"

After that I slumped against the side of the door, waiting for news. In time I saw two more Healers enter his room and a number of mediwizards come and go. No one paid me any mind, but I just sat there chanting under my breath, "please don't die. Don't fucking die, Potter. Please don't die". I must have been sitting there for half an hour, when I saw Granger approach. I jumped to my feet and rushed over to her, talking before she got a chance to say anything,

"I was just talking to him, and then I heard this terrifying beeping and suddenly the room was full of people and I was being pushed out. I don't know what.."

"Draco!" She said sharply, breaking me out of my panicked rambling, "it's his organ failures. They come every few hours. We're working on getting the counter-curse - the Minister is signing off on the appeal to question under Veritaserum as we speak. I was just with him. Come on, let's go to the waiting area".

I followed her to the waiting lounge, and went to get us some teas for while we wait. I didn't need to ask how she took it - the Mungo's teashop only served a horrendously hot brown water, faintly flavoured with tea leaves. I took the cups to where Granger sat and took a seat next to her

"What if it's his heart, this time?" I asked - voicing the thought that we were both likely dreading.

"I don't know. We're going as fast as we possibly can. Ron's probably questioning already. He just needs to keep fighting for 10 more minutes."

We sat in silence, sipping our scalding teas.

"You're not nearly as heartless as I'd lead myself to believe, Malfoy" Granger said.

"It was rarely heartlessness" I said, taking a careful sip, "selfishness, cowardice, pride - yes. But rarely heartlessness"

Silence again.

"Granger - I'm sorry. About my aunt." I saw her eyes blow wide - she hadn't been expecting that and I hadn't been either if I was honest with myself. But she's been good to me these past two days and this apology was past due. "Every day I wish, I wish that I'd had the courage to help you that day"

"You did help Malfoy. You didn't rat Harry out and that was one of the most important moments in that whole goddamned war. Thank you for apologising though. I don't... I..." I saw her take a deep breath, "I don't know that I can forgive... yet... but I can try"

"That's more than I deserve." It was. I didn't deserve forgiveness but these people were good and willing to try and that was important. It was everything. I opened my mouth to say more but closed it in the next instant as a Healer was walking towards us. I got up, as did Granger. I thought I recognised the Healer approaching us from school - a Hufflepuff maybe? Homely name - like Bertha or Margaret.

"Susan" Granger called - ah, Bones. Susan Bones.

"Hello Hermione" she said, she looked to me and back, Granger filling the void of silence with "you remember Draco Malfoy from school?"

"Yes. Yes, hello er Draco"

"Healer Bones" I said. Before the situation could get any more awkward, Granger prodded the conversation towards Potter.

"It's not his heart, " She confirmed and we both breathed a deep sigh of relief. "But it's got to his lungs. It started with his pancreas, then spleen, kidneys, then stomach. It's his lungs now. We don't know whether the curse is purely traveling upwards, in which case the left lung is next and then the heart - giving us approximately a day. Conversely, it could be going in a loop around the heart, to end there - which gives us more along the lines of 3 days - assuming thyroid, eyes, brain, potentially skin, then heart. Regardless, from here on we're looking at deterioration of quality of life. We're doing what we can but I want you to be prepared."

"Can't you put a block in? If the curse is traveling through his body can't you cast a protection charm around the heart?" I asked. Surely, that would be the logical response - the curse can't affect what it can't reach.

"We've tried that - unfortunately it doesn't seem to have the blindest bit of impact. We tried searching for an entry point for the curse as well - some sort of curse scar. But we can't seem to see that either. If we had someone present at the scene who could describe the appearance of the curse as it hit him - that would potentially help us figure out where the entry point is but until Ron returns with information on that - the best we can do is fix him up as and when."

"Thanks Susan" Granger said. I mumbled similar words of gratitude. She looked sad and dejected. She nodded her head and turned to walk away before freezing in place and then turning back around. "It's Harry. I promise to do whatever I can for him." She said, her voice overflowing with emotion. Granger moved forward and embraced her in a hug. I stood there awkwardly - not sure what my place was in this exchange. When they parted and Bones went on her way, Granger started marching forward and I fell into step beside her.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"To stick a rocket up whoever's backside and get the counter curse. Fuck protocol, I'm not waiting long enough for Harry to turn into a fucking vegetable."

"What can I do?" I asked - nothing. Fat load of fuck all was what I could do but I hated being some insignificant part of this exercise.

She turned to me and there was pity in her eyes. I fucking hated pity.

"Go home, Draco. I'll tell you when I know something. They'll likely not allow you into the room for a couple of hours more, at least while he's under close monitoring."

Fuck home. I didn't want to go home. "There has to be something I can do?" I pleaded. Granger was just about to call me a slovenly waste of space, I'm sure, when the floo we'd landed in front of flared green and Weasley emerged in full Auror regalia.

"Ron!" Granger cried, "I was just coming to you"

He looked haggard and I knew before he opened his mouth that this wasn't going to be good news.

"There's no counter-curse." My heart lodged itself firmly in my throat.

"What do you mean?" Granger sputtered.

"The caster killed himself at the scene of the crime. Straight AK as soon as he was surrounded. He'd invented it - what he cursed Harry with. We know what he cast... well half of it anyway; from the others. But they don't know that the counter is or even if there was one."

"No." she said. I think I said it too. No. No. No. No no no no no. There has to be. There fucking has to be.

"So what do we do?" I asked. "We spoke to Healer Bones - he's had a lung collapse. At worst we have until tomorrow, at best until Thursday. What do we do?"

"The Unspeakables are working on developing a counter curse. We've passed on all the information from the interrogation. I don't know how long they're going to take. When did his lung fail?"

Granger got into answering but I stopped paying attention. The Manor was overflowing with texts on dark magic. The Ministry had confiscated a lot of them, but there were plenty left. I had to see.

"I better go" I said, before disappearing through the floo, calling out Malfoy Manor as I went. I went straight from the floo to the Manor library, in a part of the house I hadn't visited in almost 4 years. I stood in the middle of the gigantic room, after spelling a fire in the hearth, and looked over the shelves upon shelves of books. I didn't know what exactly I needed but I needed it right the fuck now.

"Accio Hexes and Curses" I jumped out of the way a millisecond before approximately 12 books landed in a heap right where I had been standing. Right, that worked. I wracked my brain for other generic book titles "Accio Curses and Counter Curses", "Accio Curses for Beginners", "Accio Creating Hexes" "Accio 101 Ways to Kill an Enemy" (that one was unsuccessful). Incidentally Building Counter Curses for Curses Designed to Slowly Shut Down the Body was also not a match for anything in the Manor library. Before long I was staring at a pile of upwards of 50 books - some of them giant, leatherbound, dusty tomes. A time turner would be so handy right about now.

"Beany! Reazer! Foppy!" I called and waited until all three of my mother's house elves had popped in front of me. "I need to go through these books to find anything about how curses are created and how to build counter curses and anything on curses that cause organ failures."

I stood next to the piles of books and started levitating them into corners. "Beany - you take that pile, Reazer you take this one. Foppy I need you to call Mother and then start on this pile. I'll start here."

The elves looked confused but obedient and started to work on their piles. Foppy disappeared. I pulled Curses and Counter-curses by Amadeus Lockwood towards myself and began skimming through it. I had just discovered a chapter called "Slow and Painful Suffering" when my mother cautiously walked into the library, followed closely by Foppy.

"Draco? Darling, what are you doing here?"

"Trying to find a counter for what Harry was hit with. I wanted to ask if you wouldn't mind staying with Aunty Andromeda today as I intend to use the elves to do research with me"

I saw Mother's eyes widen, before they set in place. She pulled a book from my pile, sat on a chair near the fire and said, "what are we looking for?"

My heart swelled with love for my mother, and I smiled gratefully at her. I told her what I told the elves but added more nuance seeing as my mother was a learned witch; one of the brightest I knew. I accio'd some parchment and quills directing all my helpers to make notes of anything worthy as well as showing it to me or Mum.

However long later, I felt none the wiser. I had gone through 4 Curses and Counter-Curses. And aside from the fact that I now had working knowledge of how to form a spell if I knew the strains of the curse I wanted countered - I had nothing. It was becoming evident that I needed inside knowledge of what Harry was hit with, in order to develop a way to nullify it. Between us we had made a significant dent in the pile but we didn't have a lot to show for all that.

"Draco - I think you need better knowledge of the curse in the first instance, from what I'm reading in these books" my mother said. It was the same conclusion I had come to - so I nodded. I looked at her and saw that she appeared tired. I looked to the clock and saw that we'd been at this for approximately 3 hours and at nearly 11pm, if was definitely past my mother's bed time. "Go to bed, Mum" I told her. She got up without needing much of a push - she knew as well as I that exhaustion rarely lead to breakthroughs. I got up with her, intending to walk her to her rooms. I told the elves to refresh the fire and followed Mum to her chambers before giving her a peck on the cheek and a gentle "goodnight." When I got back, I grabbed a quill and parchment -

"Granger - I don't know how to get in touch. Please contact me at Malfoy Manor by floo call. Urgent. Regards DM".

I sent Beany to the owlery to post my missive and Reazer to the floo room to await Granger's call. I returned to my research, now with only Foppy to help. Between us we were beginning to have a pretty formidable list of organ-damage related curses. All of which unfortunately meant nothing without Granger's input. And every moment not spent solving the problem was a moment spent writing Harry Potter's death into history.

Another 30 minutes with the books yielded little more than what I already had. I asked Foppy and Beany for their progress reports and my formidable list of horrid curses grew longer. None of them, on their own, quite described my understanding of what Harry was suffering from but it was possible one of them served as a foundation for it. Each one made my insides twist in discomfort and horror - trying to imagine the pain at casting, what Harry must've felt when the spell hit. I stopped myself from going down that rabbit hole, forcing my eyes back to Percival Peregrin's Full Body of Body Curses. I was thumbing through the chapter on intestines when Reazer came into the library to tell me that a Ms Hermione Granger was on the floo. I hastily put my parchment full of potentials between the pages of Percival to mark my place, got up and rushed through to the Floo room, casting a quick tempus as I went - nearly midnight.

"Granger - thank you for calling." I said, as I bent down to the floo.

"No problem, Malfoy. I'm afraid I've got no updates for you" she said, her eyes downcast.

I hadn't expected any, but still my heart clenched at that.

"Granger - I wish to help." I started off. I could see her open her mouth to tell me I had helped enough or just being there was plenty or some such shit, but before she could put me in my place, I spoke again. "I'm not a Curse Breaker or an Unspeakable but the Manor libraries are pretty formidable when it comes to knowledge of the Dark Arts. And I'm... that is to say, my ability, is not small. I can help find out what curse hit Ha..Potter but I will need the information currently on hand. Whatever you know - regarding the curse he was hit with..."

I looked at her imploringly, willing her to humour me. To allow me to be useful to the cause, in some way. I could see her eyes flit to her side, then return to me. Her brow was furrowed, she was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth and then quite suddenly, her expression settled. She pushed a stray tendril of hair forcefully behind one ear and then said,

"Do you have a pensieve, Malfoy?"

The question took me aback so the best I could manage was a jerky nod of the head. I wasn't even sure that was true, but I'm sure the elves could manage it somehow. Nodding at my answer, suddenly Granger disappeared from the floo. The fire was still going and I thought I heard her voice and the deeper timber of Weasley's. I waited, rocking on the balls of my feet in impatience. She returned a few minutes later,

"Move over, Malfoy" she said, and I had all but a couple of seconds to hastily move from the front of the fireplace to avoid a lapful of Granger. She came through and was standing in the middle of my mother's floo room in the next minute, looking around with her body tensed.

"It's a different wing" I offered, correctly guessing the reason for her apprehension if the way her shoulders eased was a sign.

In the next instant, the floo flared again and Weasley tumbled, tracking soot onto my mother's Aubusson. He was clutching a sheath of papers under one arm and holding a vial in his hand. I looked in alarm from one to the other, what the fuck was happening?

"You want to help, right?" Granger asked, staring me down. I nodded, suddenly feeling a great deal less in control of things.

"So do we" she said, in response "as far as I see it, we'll get there faster if we go at it together. And time, on this occasion, is exactly the thing we don't have."

I turned to her husband, surely the Weasel wasn't going to be happy with this arrangement. I wasn't wrong, his lips were in a tight line and if the situation weren't truly one of life or death, I would have laughed out loud at the petulant look on his face. Unsavoury though the situation was proving to be; Weasley had made absolutely no secret of his disdain for me, I had to concede that Granger had a point. We stood a much greater chance of succeeding if we worked together. I quickly called on Foppy who stood at my feet a split second later. I requested she bring the pensieve to the library along with a vat of tea before ushering my house guests through. I could sense Granger's displeasure at my treatment of Foppy rolling off her in waves but fuck if I know where the bloody pensieve is and my skills are put to much better use helping crack the thing that's eating at Potter's insides, than brewing a pot of tea. Which is precisely why, I suspect, she didn't start educating me.

We talked little on the way to the library but as soon as we were settled around the fire, on a plush rug, the books all around us, Weasley was away. I was grateful as I wasn't a hundred percent clear on where exactly to begin my questioning. He was suddenly no longer the bumbling buffoon I took him for, but a decorated and capable Auror. His shoulders were straight as he relayed information in a terse, perfunctory way.

"We made a list, like you, I reckon, of potential threads that run in the curse. By way of information, we only know what the curse is doing and one half of the incantation. The first half was wordless, then he got distracted by the Auror raid and had to speak up for the second half. He apparated before we could get to him. As you know, we found the perpetrators earlier tonight, but unfortunately the caster killed himself once the Aurors had him surrounded."

"The wand?" I asked. A Priori Incantatem would yield all the information we needed.

"Snapped" Weasley said, his lip curled in disgust, the professional facade slipping. "During the ensuing fight, and in their efforts to apprehend the rest of them, the Aurors on the scene trod on the bloody thing. We sent it to Ollivander but the core has split so it's no use to us"

Fuck. Ministry could do with spending some of the tax money it leaches off us on training its Aurors on proper protocol. It enraged me how close we could have been if not for a bunch of idiots rushing through an active crime scene like a herd of erumpents.

"So what do we have?" I asked, exasperated, when it didn't look like he was going to start talking again.

Weasley took a deep breath and looked to his wife. It was clear he didn't want me involved. I felt the true fear of them leaving just like they came, deciding it was best to keep me out of it all. "Please" I said, the word tasting bitter, desperate. My hand twitched in my lap, threatening to grasp at Weasley's, to indicate my desperation. Thankfully it didn't come to that. My begging had been sufficient.

"We have a memory" he said, plucking the vial from his pocket. "One of the accomplices and as far as I could see, the only one in the room, aside from the caster and Harry obviously. We can hear the second half only, although there is background noise during the casting so it takes some concentrating" I see him stutter, then swallow, looking first at his wife, then back at me "the angle ... it obscures the entry of the curse."

I stared at the vial in his hand, watching the memory swirl innocently inside. That's all we had - if we wanted to save Potter, we had to milk it for everything it could possibly offer.

"Master Draco?" I looked up to see Foppy at the door of the library, the pensieve floating in the air behind her, "where is Foppy to put this?"

"Bring it to me here, Foppy, thank you" I said to the elf, moving the books to the side, making room between us for the basin. It was settled in the middle, with us in a circle around it, surrounded by books. Weasley still held the vial tightly, his skin pale and stretched around it, and his head bowed down. I waited for him to look up, to see that I was ready and that he could release it into the basin but still there was no sign of movement from him. I looked to Granger imploringly, only to find her also clutching her knees to herself, eyes scrunched tightly shut. She was shaking. I didn't know what to do, so I continued to sit there - allowing them to break out of whatever state they were in. Granger snapped out first. She released her knees, took a calming breath and placed her hand on Weasley's arm. And then, just as if she'd flipped a switch the moment they touched, Weasley's shoulders started shaking. Was he crying?! Either that or he was laughing and this was certainly not the most opportune time for that. I stared at them in disbelief, trying to piece together what was going on but came up with nothing.

Granger now had both her arms around her husband. I got up from my position beside them and walked to the tea laid out a few paces away - an excuse to give them some privacy. I poured three cups, but with no clue how either of my guests took their tea - waited patiently for any indication that it was safe to approach. They were speaking in low murmurs and I only caught the odd word or so - "I can't" from Weasley, "please" from Granger. Finally I discerned a nod from Granger directed towards me and I took it as my cue to approach; 3 cups of tea, a milk jug and sugar bowl following behind me. Weasley was sitting with his legs bent, arms propped on his knees and head still bowed. Granger was rubbing circles on his back - my heart clenched at the domesticity, feeling a phantom Harry-shaped ache in my heart. I asked about tea and Granger directed me, Weasley still having not spoken to me since his meltdown. With all of us holding our cups of tea in our hands, Granger pulled the vial from her pocket. She unstoppered it and was just in the process of pouring it into the basin when Weasley put a hand on her wrist. Oh for fucks sake! I reigned in my impatience - not wanting to bring up the fact that Harry was fighting for his life at this very moment.

"Wait" he rasped. He placed his cup to his side and turned to me, "it's... it's horrible, what's in that memory, Malfoy. I've.. I've seen it twice and I can.. I can tell you everything there - that's important. We don't have to watch it again."

I froze in place. Suddenly, I took everything uncharitable I had thought, since this bizarre interruption started, back. Somehow, fuck knows how, but somehow, it had escaped my notice that that innocent looking memory held the answers because it held footage of Harry being tortured. It held visual evidence turning a healthy, hearty man into the one in that hospital bed. Suddenly, I didn't particularly want to watch it either. But I knew I had to - I needed to see, to understand. And that's the only hope Harry had right now. Still, I let my gratitude shine through when I looked back at Weasley.

"Thank you. But I think it's important I see this. Perhaps you can sit it out?"

He shook his head in defeat with a mumbled "if only", took the vial from Granger and poured the contents quickly into the basin, as if doing it with speed wouldn't give him a chance to change his mind again. I went in immediately, without waiting for further delays, finding myself in a dark, dank room. There appeared to be some sort of charm shield between me and the inside of the room; I could just make out the vague outlines of a sparsely furnished room on the other side and there was a faint rumble of sound, but I couldn't see or hear anything specific. I walked forward, trying to walk past it, but despite giving the appearance of flimsiness, it was rigid and impermeable. Granger settled next to me in the next moment and I looked to her, the question on my lips, but she motioned for me to keep quiet. Weasley settled next to her and spoke his name out loud. A woman in the tell tale purple garb of an Unspeakable appeared in front of the shield, her outline shimmering faintly - a charm then. She spoke in a clear, cutting tone.

"Welcome. You are about to view a memory, as reproduced by the Department of Mysteries. This is highly classified information and intended for approved personnel within the Department and specified affiliates. If you do not hold the aforementioned status, please exit now. Failure to remove yourself and therefore view confidential information contained herein is punishable by a fine and, or criminal prosecution. Please state your name once more for the record."

Fuck. It absolutely had not occurred to me that trying to help would also entail doing something illegal. I looked towards the other two in panic to find Granger staring at me, her finger to her lips. Weasley spoke his name, and the woman and the screen she stood in front of both melted away. The vision cleared and we walked forward. Almost instantly, I wished for the shield to come back and protect me from the scene that awaited me.

We were in an open room, the walls tall and dark. It smelled strongly of damp - there was one lamp giving faint light to the floating body in jeans and a long sleeved t shirt in the centre of the room. He was elevated from the stomach, facing down. His leg was bent and hanging at a hideous angle - broken. One sleeve was torn and a deep jagged scar ran from elbow to shoulder. I felt bile rise in my throat. The jet black hair was matted, I suspected with blood, and there was a steady trickle of red falling to the floor beneath him.

"Wake him" came a voice from the side. I turned to see who had spoken, a man sitting in a chair 10 paces away from Harry, facing him head on. He had his wand raised, keeping Harry elevated, most likely.

"He'll scream... someone might hear..." came a second voice, directly to my right. I whipped round, the edges of the room were dark, I hadn't seen him. It was his memory we were in, given our angle. He was leaning against the wall, twisting his wand in his hands. I felt hatred burn like fire through my whole body as he continued to play with the handle of his wand, his eyes on his colleague, dead to the very core.

"Muffliato first then. I fancy hearin' the Golden Boy beg"

My eyes were stinging; anger and hate, pain and heartbreak - the feelings hard to unpick, but brewing a deep cocktail in my gut. I turned to Granger and Weasley next to me, they were clutching each other tightly, tears hanging in their eyes like in mine.

The one next to me cast a silencing charm and then an Enervate at Harry, who twisted in the air for a second or two before letting out the most soul crushing scream - the kind I only remember hearing in the Manor when the Dark Lord and his posse were being especially generous with the Cruciatus. I felt the tears stream down my face, my hand held tightly to my mouth to muffle the sound. The news of Harry in hospital devastated me, seeing him broke me further. But for all that, I think this was the first time I truly cried. Not big hulking tears wracking my entire body like when I'd found out I'd had some part to play in Harry's accident - those had been cathartic. This was just a constant flow and the simple acceptance of my soul that it had been completely shattered. Those fuckers, those complete and utter blights on this world, how dare they deign to lay so much as a finger on him? I watched as Harry's moans changed into prolonged groans; long and loud. I couldn't even imagine what he was feeling - I'd never heard this kind of agony before. With the Cruciatus, when the spell hit, all you heard was gut wrenching screams of pain, and once it ended, it went to pained, deep breaths of relief. Never had even I, with Voldemort living in my house, heard the sounds I could hear now. He sounded broken. My heart cracked further.

The man who'd been barking orders got up from his chair forcefully, it rattled back a half foot from the movement alone. He walked towards Harry and I felt the urge to run forward and stand between them - like I could still stop this from happening; undo the damage, leave this memory to find Harry healthy. The man pushed his wand under Harry's chin, lifting his head up. Our angle was still obscured, but still I gasped. All I could see was Harry's neck and cheek - blue, purple, red, swollen.

"Beg!" The man barked, "beg me to let you live, Chosen One."

My palm turned into an involuntary fist, my body went rigid. Do it, Harry, I pleaded. Choose your own life; be selfish. I begged on his behalf - please, don't hurt him any further, please oh god please let him go! I begged and I begged, my heart racing.

Harry took a stuttering breath, his throat protested loudly - he was probably dehydrated as well. But the stupid, insufferable idiot didn't plead for his life. He spat. It all happened so suddenly - I saw the glob of spit hit the frayed lapel of the man's jacket and a moment later Harry howled in pain as he was slapped hard across the face. I took an involuntary step forward but felt a hand on my arm. Probably Granger, although I didn't turn to confirm - I had to keep my attention ahead.

"Well then - in that case, there is a curse I've wanted to try for fuckin' months. One of my own, you see. High hopes for this one..." and then "keep him up" to his colleague who took over the role of levitating Harry's body. The caster pointed his wand straight ahead, Harry had let his head drop down again; surrender? Pain? I didn't know. I craned my neck forward, paying close attention. The caster started wordlessly, the tip of his wand shining red, the orb getting bigger and bigger. A buzzing sound started beside me but before I could choose to ignore it, the second man started shouting.

"Fuck - they're here. Shit they found us fuck fuck - Freddie! We have to leave, the coppers are here"

I couldn't hear anything - they must've had a trigger near the periphery of the property that the Aurors had stepped over. I could hear similar sounds of panic coming from outside the room, banging on the door demanding they leave. The caster was struggling to concentrate, his eyes were traveling around the room, his wand still poised, the red orb on its tip as if awaiting his command to release. A series of pops started sounding, as his accomplices started apparating out, presumably. The accomplice in the room continued his steady stream of panicked chatter. The caster raised his wand higher and shouted the second half of the incantation, his eyes tightly closed.

"ORGANUM PERDERE" he cried out. And the orb released, speeding towards Harry's floating body. And I saw what Weasley meant now, about the angle. The curse entered his body from below, and Harry was low to the ground, with the other one too distracted to maintain the levitation charm properly. It was impossible to see how or where it entered from, only that it did. Harry's back arced painfully, he gasped and then it was like he stopped breathing.

"Let's go" the caster called out. Harry's body thudded to the floor - he was unconscious. The caster gave one last kick to his side and then stepped away.

I felt the room swirl around me with a pop and then it faded into darkness. I lifted myself from the pensieve.

For a long while after the memory had ended, all you could hear was our heavy breaths. I wasn't ready to look up yet, still reeling from the experience. My hands were shaking, my face felt stiff from the dried tear tracks and a coldness had set deep into my bones, despite the blazing fire in the hearth. My eyes fell on the pile of books to my left, Peregrin's settled precariously on top, a bit of parchment poking out the side. Organum Perdere... was that on there? It sounded familiar.

"Organum..." I muttered aloud, my voice was raspy. I cleared my throat, and tried again, "Organum Perdere"

I looked up. Weasley and Granger were looking at me, lulled out of their own internal fog because of my words - dragged back to the task at hand. I noticed impassively, the twin expressions of grief on their faces, wondering how closely they mirrored my own. Weasley had seen that memory three times... how he had not collapsed from the trauma of it, I do not know.

"It's ancient. I've found mentions of it in the texts I've read, but nothing definitive. Not enough to unpick its threads." Granger said.

I plucked the piece of paper from between the pages of Peregrin, casting my eye through it. I had a whole fucking section on Perderes and maybe a couple of Organums as well but nothing with the two put together.

"That's plausible" Granger responded, "two charm hybrids aren't that uncommon. Organum is a common catch-all for the body - I think some Healer scans use it as well. What books are the Perderes in?"

I cast a look through - Curses and Counter Curses Vol 2 held a few but the bulk of the Perderes were in 101 Ways to Make Your Foes Pay - a particularly gruesome read. I chucked the former at Granger and pulled open the latter, scouring through relevant chapters. Weasley pulled a file from his collection - I wasn't sure what he was doing to be honest. I struggled to concentrate; the image of Harry with his leg hanging by his side would appear in front of my eyelids sporadically - sucking away my breath and bringing a fresh set of tears to obscure my vision. I asked for more tea.

The Perderes weren't all to do with the body; some were to destroy property as well. But the bulk were organ specific; Cor Perdere for the heart, Pulmonus Perdere for the lungs, Cerebrum Perdere for the brain. On and on it went - even covering fingers and toes. There was minimal description, aside from a vague "to cause damage". But then, right at the bottom was a foot note recommending Peregin's Full Body of Body Curses for readers that way inclined. I threw it aside and pulled the other book towards me, thumbing through with a vengeance. Each Perdere had a page dedicated to it, in Peregrin's. I thanked the gods that he was such a sadistic fuck. I went through to Pulmonus Perdere; Harry's lung had collapsed earlier, yesterday, I suppose it was now.

I needed more information on Harry's lung collapse, so I looked up at Granger and Weasley - they were both buried in a book, a file open in front of them, a quill and parchment in Weasley's hand. They were talking in whispers and now that I was paying attention, I felt it was quite loud in the quiet room - before, with my head full of images of a tortured Harry and my concentration on the book, I had almost forgotten I had company.

"Granger" I said, to get her attention. Two pairs of eyes settled on me. I wanted to ask for Harry's hospital file - suspected it to be the one open in front of Weasley - but much to my surprise, "what are you working on?" Is what I actually ended up saying.

She looked chastised - I suppose that's fair; we watched the memory but other than that, I wouldn't call what we were doing 'working together'. More like, working independently in each other's presence. I hadn't intended to accuse, but despite her misunderstanding, I didn't particularly want to clear the air. She got up from next to Weasley and opposite me, and settled in the empty space between us so that we ended up flanking her on either side. She spread the parchment out in front of us, where all three eyes could see it clearly. Three cups of tea floated to settle next to us. I looked up to see Foppy standing near the tea service, a fresh pot of tea levitating near her head. I thanked her and told her to get to bed and then redirected my gaze to the parchment once more.

There were a series of lines drawn on the parchment, each parallel - several were drawn close together, as though forming a cluster, joining halfway and becoming one bold line, with 2 running above a further distance apart. A fourth dotted one ran along the top. I recognised it as a spell map, but what exactly it was showing was not clear to me. I looked to Granger for an explanation.

"So," she started, "as far as we can tell - there are 3 main spells, maybe 4. This one" she pointed at the cluster, "is Organum Perdere - it's a catch-all spell. Like I was saying before, Organum means a series of organs. You've found a list of Perderes that pertain to various different parts of the body so the individual strands of this cluster are probably those, but they take the shape of a single spell when cast."

"I found a detailed description in this book" I said, pulling Peregin towards me, "we can cross check against Potter's Mungo’s file to confirm that."

I read out the descriptor of Pulmonus Perdere; "the lung is squeezed from the middle, constricting natural use. The squeeze persists until the tissue crushes under the pressure, leaving the organ dead." I coughed to cover the stutter in my voice. I looked to my audience; Granger was staring at me wide-eyed and Weasley was running through the patient file. He looked up darkly, nodded tersely. "That's the one" he said, his tone dark. I felt a bizarre mix of disgust and relief at the knowledge, throwing the book away from me as though touching it was burning a hole through my palms. We entered once more into that deathly silence we were beginning to share far too often; the kind that talked of our shared anguish over the pain of someone dear to us and our fear that we might lose him.

Granger broke out first this time. She took a sobering sip of tea, cleared her throat and pointed at her chart. "So then, we know what's causing the damage, but we don't know how it's deciding where to go."

"Right" I said, as much as to fill the gaps of silence, as to demonstrate I was following "so this one, or maybe these two - are the first half, directing the spell." I said, pointing at the strands running at the top of the map, above the cluster.

"Right" Weasley said, his wife nodding vigourously instead, her mouth full of tea.

"Frustratingly," Weasley continued, "we only know what it isn't. Not what it is. For example, we know that it's not a traveling curse"

Of course - Healer Bones had said as much. Creating a barrier around the organs hasn't stopped the curse from reaching them. It wasn't traveling.

"In the blood then?" I offered. "It could have settled in the blood, traveling through the body as it pumps around to each organ."

"We thought about that," Granger offered, "but as far as I can tell, that would cause simultaneous triggers since the blood flows to all parts of the body. Also, I think perhaps introducing blood in addition to Organum should confuse the spell. The threads would clash."

That made sense. I wracked my brain but I couldn't come up with anything. All I achieved was a headache. My eyes hurt, my throat hurt, my head hurt. My body was begging for sleep but I did not have the luxury of time, to allow it to retackle this problem afresh, once it was well rested.

"Most of the triggers I can think of are chain links. And we know it's not that..." Granger said in frustration.

"We need help" Weasley said. "Who could we go to? Someone who wouldn't babble to the Department of Mysteries that we're doing this. Someone who understands curses and cares about Harry enough to wake up at 1am to help us."

There was that deathly silence again while we all wracked our brains. Who wouldn't want to help Harry Potter? The real task was trying to think of someone who would have the knowledge to be of use, and I could think of no living witch or wizard with the requisite skill set. And then, the fog cleared from my mind because for fucks sake, we were wizards weren't we? We didn't need them to be alive, only prominent enough to have their likeness painted on canvas. When at last I spoke, I did it nearly in the same breath as Granger. We both exclaimed "Dumbledore!" on an exhale, our breaths whooshing out of us, sounding like hope.

Weasley thunked his palm against his forehead, "of course! Jeez, why didn't we think of that sooner?!?" And he was right. Up until 5 years ago it was near impossible to think of one and not automatically recall the other - clearly daily drudgery and relative peace had done the unthinkable - Albus Dumbledore was no longer at the forefront of everyone's minds. I expect the old coot would've loved to hear that.

"Let's go" I said, then, lifting myself on shaking legs. It had been a long time since I stepped foot inside Hogwarts - the deep coils of shame and regret wrapped me in their vice like grip at the very thought - Merlin only knows what actually being within those walls would do to me. But needs must - we were painfully short of leads and this one, at this very moment, sounded almost like a solution.

We walked through to the floo room and it was only then that it occurred to me that it was now well past midnight, and we were not students.

"How will we get in?" I asked, but I need not have had such plebeian fears in the presence of two thirds of the Golden Trio.

"We can" Weasley replied, "we'll go in first and then come back for you"

I was not the sitting and waiting type, yet still I held my tongue. There was no other way, no one would be letting me through into a school - even without the brand on my arm and the unfortunate fact of my actions during the war. I sat down 10 steps from the floo, my legs crossed in front of me,

"Come quickly" I pleaded, to Granger, once Weasley had floo'd through. With a nod and a half smile, she too was gone.

I don't know how long it was that I waited - but it felt like forever. Every tick of the grandfather clock behind me, the one I ceased to look at because time was not my friend tonight, rattled my bones. Tick tock tick tock - like the belly of that crocodile from that Muggle children's book Teddy loves - each sound brought danger closer. I hugged my knees to myself, resting my forehead on top, allowing the minutes to drag by. There, with my head resting on my kneecaps, I dozed off, and it was the sound of someone calling my name that roused me. I lifted my eyes to see Granger in my floo. She told me to come through and for a second I just sat there, blinking blearily at her. Once I got my bearings however, I got up so quickly I nearly fell right back onto my arse. I crawled towards the floo, took a deep steadying breath and called out for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Stepping into Hogwarts, I had my eyes tightly shut. I don't know whether I actually suspected I might get punished for daring to return, but it was definitely surprise I felt when a few seconds ticked by and the walls didn't cave in on me. I think we all knew, those of us who studied here, that Hogwarts was a sentient being. And I had wronged her - let enemies into her very heart. Perhaps here too, I was being given the opportunity to redeem myself. I opened my eyes to see myself face to face with Professor McGonnagal. 5 years with no sightings, then twice in two days. She was bundled in a thick dressing gown, her austere bun replaced with a single plait running over one shoulder.

"Professor" I croaked.

She smiled at me, though it looked strained. Because of me, or the circumstances? Both?

"Hello Draco. I had hoped to see you back here in less dire circumstances. This way please."

I was trying to make sense of that statement while Granger and Weasley preceded me through the room, following McGonnagal, out into the expansive, rolling corridors. We walked swiftly, climbing the moving staircases to make our way to the Headmistress' office - Weasley and Granger did this with an ease that spoke of habit and practice; I wagered they'd come here often, even after graduating, Harry too. I was more unsure, fumbling my way behind them.

The password was Dougal, I learned, as the gargoyle stepped aside and we climbed up the spiral staircase to McGonnagal's office. I was last to enter the open chamber, and could hear McGonnagal rousing Dumbledore's portrait with a few urgent "Albus"s. I entered to find myself the object of his focus - his eyes crinkling faintly behind his half moon spectacles. He held a book in his hands, was seated in a worn leather chair. The same as the one that sat behind the Headmistress' desk. It took me a second to realise that the crinkle was part of a smiling face - not one of anger or hurt. My throat felt dry and my eyes stung.

"Mr Malfoy" Dumbledore said, his voice calm - almost cheerful, "alas we could not welcome you back in happier times". It took me aback, not least because McGonnagal had said almost exactly the same thing when I'd first emerged from the floo. I couldn't begin to understand this place, these people. Any of it. Although this was likely also because I was absolutely exhausted and my brain was resolutely refusing to function properly.

"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore" I said, echoing my greeting from earlier. A hush fell over the room again and I desperately wanted to draw attention to the present situation. I looked pleadingly towards Granger, Weasley, McGonnagal.

Finally, it was she who spoke,

"Albus, they're working on developing a counter curse for what Harry was hit with. They requested to speak with you" Yes. Please help Harry. Help us uncode this.

"Yes, Minerva, I had surmised as much" he responded equably, "I'm surprised it took you so long to come find me."

Granger jumped straight into their defence, flushing red and talking openly about the case and their hopes until earlier that night, that the caster would be apprehended. She was talking quickly, her words falling over themselves.

"Ms Granger" Dumbledore interrupted, "it was not a reprimand. In fact, had Harry's life not been hanging on the line, I would have been pleased to know my significance is waning". Again with his gentle smile. I wanted to climb into the portrait and shake him - demand he show urgency, Harry is dying, you old man! Dying! I turned my eyes to my boots, for fear that my anguish would be too telling.

"However" he continued, "it is not I who you ought to be asking" and just like that, the faint flicker of hope that had settled in the deepest corner of my heart, threatened to snuff out. If not Dumbledore, then who? I looked up in anger, ready to lash out, only to find the portrait empty.

"Professor?" Weasley croaked, to merge with McGonnagal's "Albus?" And Granger's "Headmaster?"

"Over here" we heard, our heads whipping around at speed. We found him in another portrait - the same office, the same leather chair, the same angle - but darker. "There are few with as extensive a knowledge of the dark arts as Severus Snape. If you are to crack this, his insight will likely prove invaluable." He turned to the portrait's sole inhabitant then, "Severus, I believe your assistance will be required"

When those eyes drifted open, they traveled around the room, taking stock, to eventually settle on me, going from hard marble, to liquid and soft - and how I could see that through oil and canvas, I don't know. But that's what I saw.

"Severus" I whispered on a breath. He had been my sole confidant during the war, and I hadn't known he'd fought it for the Light side, nor had I known he'd taken an unbreakable vow to protect me. And before that, he was my godfather. He loved me, in his own way and I likely adored him more than my own father. Seeing him now brought a fresh wave of tears and I was helpless to stop the few that snuck through. In the moments after I saw him, the world had muted around me - but the sounds were returning now. I could unpick Granger's voice - she was describing the curse and what we knew of its counter. I pleaded with my eyes - please save Potter, Severus. Help us save his life!

"Mr Potter continues to be as reckless as ever, I see..." Severus sneered. I shut my eyes. Would he refuse? He wouldn't, surely. Clearly therein lay the fear for the room's other's inhabitants because suddenly there was a disquieting silence as everyone waited, with their breaths held in.

"I suppose I'm destined to help the brat even after death" he said then and a collective sigh of relief rushed out of all of us. I opened my eyes, hoping my gratitude shone through as I focused on him. "Miss Granger's incessant prattling was almost entirely indecipherable to me, why don't you tell me what happened, Draco?"

I turned to Granger; her lips were pursed in annoyance and her eyes were spitting fire at Snape's portrait. But when her eyes met mine, they softened a bit. She gave me an imperceptible nod, I don't know why. Perhaps to let me know that she wouldn't be offended? I felt relieved, although when I'd begun giving two shits about Hermione Granger's approval, I can't say. I returned my attention back to Severus, and began relaying everything we'd deduced from what we knew. I deferred to Weasley to explain the investigation and it's many flaws which he did with his teeth gritted; likely feeling the slight to his wife from earlier.

Severus listened keenly, and soon we could've been furniture for all the attention we received as a back and forth ensued between McGonnagal, Dumbledore and Snape. A few of the other headmasters and mistresses chipped in with vacuous questions and suggestions, probably to punish us for waking them - as if they had such busy days, and the night was the only opportunity for shut eye. I wanted to burn the lot of them to the ground when Walter Aragon wanted to know if Harry Potter was at all related to Thephalus Potter who had been his Healer when he'd sprained his ankle as a young boy.

I heard a whispered "Draco" the same moment I felt a tug on my sleeve. I turned to see Granger peering curiously at me, "let's go" she said. Where were we going? I'd lost track of the conversation around me, once it became clear we were a third limb to this Headmaster Congregation. I looked towards Severus again, austere in his high necked black robes, he'd stood up.

"We'll meet you there" he spoke. Meet us where? I turned a confused stare back towards Granger but she was busy walking out the chamber. I stiltedly followed as Weasley and McGonnagal also headed out. I continued to follow a few steps behind - having no clue where we were going and not wanting to document that fact either. I mean - they were all headed there, right? It's not like it would be a mystery for very long. We stepped out into the main courtyard, past Muggle Studies and Transfiguration, some sort of muscle memory at play as my feet walked the path with confidence. We reentered the building and just as we walked past Charms, I realised we were heading towards the library. I picked up new speed, leaving the rest of the group to follow me as I strode purposefully past classrooms. I waited at the base of the staircase for the group to catch up, before we all ascended to the third floor. McGonnagal, holding the lantern, walked to the front, leading us all to the Forbidden Section, unwarding it to let us through.

"What took you so long?" whispered a voice to my left. Severus was sharing portrait space with Ingrid Cattering, the 3rd Librarian of Hogwarts, and she looked very sour about it. It was a narrow portrait; rows upon rows of books on shelves in the background, Cattering in the foreground with her arms crossed. With Severus, it was looking quite cramped. Meanwhile, Dumbledore looked surprisingly comfortable sharing portrait space with Francis Pince, Librarian 1836-1901. Almost before we'd even settled our stacks of parchment somewhere, he had us working on researching mind-altering curses. Ingrid was a veritable goldmine of information - she knew where each book pertaining to each specificity was located. Harry didn't have curse scars - according to Professor Dumbledore, all curses causing physical damage leave curse scars. The Cruciatus triggers the pain centre of the brain, but doesn't cause physical damage, so no curse scar. The Imperius controls the mind, no curse scar. Healers couldn't find signs of curse entry on Harry's body; therefore it was most likely a curse targeting his brain - directing it to shut down, organ by organ.

Unfortunately, every text that Ingrid directed us to essentially brought us to the same conclusion. There was no way to combine a spell like Organum Perdere which focused on physical organs, with one that tried to control the mind or trigger the brain. One could not direct the other. Which meant; either that halfwit had discovered a law of magic as yet unknown, or we were going down the wrong route. Another bloody dead end! I threw the book I had open in front of me in frustration, ignoring Ingrid’s aggrieved gasp above me. We were running out of time! And all we could manage was to grow a list of what Harry wasn’t suffering from.

It didn't help that we lost McGonnagal's help when Filch came into the library, informing us that Peeves was in the Ravenclaw girls’ dormitories. She promised to wake up a professor to take over the situation and come right back but for now we were short one very key helper.

“I think it's evident” Severus said, “If it’s not this, then there would be a curse scar”

“Indeed” Dumbedore responded from the adjoining portrait.

“Would there be one curse scar, for a single curse? Have you known a curse to leave multiple signs of entry?” Severus asked.

My ears perked up, and when I looked to Pince's portrait, I saw that the other inhabitants of the room were also listening keenly.

“Unless a curse is designed to both enter and exit, in which case two… but yes… in general it is just the point of entry…”

“And if I was to curse you multiple times, in quick succession?”

“Then of course, dependent on the spells you cast, naturally, there should be a number of entry points on the body.”

I had no idea where they were going with this, but I was afraid to even breathe for fear that whatever epiphany was on the brink of release would be somehow quashed because of a too loud inhalation. The silence, as we awaited Severus' next question or Dumbledore’s next observation was deafening.

“What if Organum Perdere doesn’t present as a series and attack as one, but presents as one, and attacks as a series?” Severus asked. I let that question run through my head a few times, allowing my exhausted brain to unpick the words carefully. I didn’t get a chance to put them back together though, because Dumbledore was not suffering from the same degree of bone weariness as the rest of us.

“There should be a mark for each of the Perderes. But I believe we were informed that Harry had no curse scars on his body”

“They could have been missed!” Granger shot up out of her chair. Looks like at least one of us was following the conversation – I smarted that that person wasn’t me, but for now we had a common objective and I told my inherent need to best her to settle down. “If they’re small… and the Healers would’ve been looking for one, not a bunch! You can't see the entry in the memory, either!"

And then, much to my relief, Weasley exclaimed, “can someone explain what’s going on to me please?!” I think I love him.

Granger pulled the spell map towards herself, grabbed a quill and spread it out on the table and began drawing a map underneath the one we already had. I leaned over to get a look at what she was doing; she’d drawn the same diagram as before, but this time, the cluster of spells didn’t join and form a single track. In fact, she had drawn the mirror image; a single line spreading into a cluster. She grabbed the map and walked over to Cattering's portrait, holding it open in front of it. I saw Severus nod, and then she returned to us and spread out the spell map so it was visible to Weasley and me.

"Basically, I think the theory is that instead of Organum Perdere hitting like a single curse" she pointed at the original map, "it hit like this - like a flurry of simultaneous curses." The new map. "So then, instead of no scars at all, there might be several and the Healers might've missed them?" She lost steam at the end of her explanation.

Unsurprising given it sounded like the essence of the argument here was that the Neanderthals at Mungo’s didn’t see a giant sign on Harry’s forehead saying ‘CURSE ENTERED HERE’ and therefore assumed there was no entry point.

“So just because they didn’t see a big scar, they assumed there were none, that’s what we’re going with?” Weasley asked. Fuck. Apparently lack of sleep turned me into the Weasel.

“It is worth investigating, Mr Weasley”, Dumbledore said gently. “I recommend you or Ms Granger inspect Mr Potter’s body – specifically around the organs where damage has already occurred.” Why not me, I wondered? “I doubt you would be allowed to unclothe Harry, Mr Malfoy ” I felt my face flush – had my thoughts been so obvious? Apparently so, because before I’d even turned to plead that Granger be quick, she nodded at me – that small nod that was beginning to become a regular part of our interactions.

In their absence, McGonnagal returned - I filled her in on what the other two were doing and the rest of us got to work on the third strand of the curse – the trigger. We had the hospital file open in front of us, and we could easily tell what it wasn’t. It wasn’t timed as the attacks didn’t follow a discernible time sequence, it was possibly random but that seemed unlikely since it was moving in a noticeable direction – either circular or from the bottom to the top. Which could only mean one thing; an external trigger was causing the failures. I was reading about emotional triggers in a tatty old book about feelings; the cover was damp because it would randomly burst into tears. The pages were made of parchment that repelled water so you could read it while it had an existential crisis but that didn't make the experience remotely pleasurable - arguably, the situation precluded pleasure by its very nature. I was so engrossed in trying to read and simultaneously keep my trousers from being soaked in book-tears, when Weasley and Granger burst in. They were breathing heavily, as though they'd run the entire stretch of the castle, and it literally took us 5 minutes of pouring water down their throats before they managed to string a coherent sentence together.

It was good news. The first time that I truly felt like maybe we would be able to piece this puzzle together. Potter had curse scars - small ones, apparently. Like little beauty spots, easily missed. On his side, his belly, a faint one on his chest. I wanted to say that I wouldn't have missed them but I suppose expecting Potter's best friends and healers to have an extensive knowledge of every mark on his body was unfair. They hadn't studied it like I had. Severus was right - the spell had hit multiple places at once. I felt a bloom of hope flower low in my stomach and this time when I grabbed the Weeping Book, I couldn't have given a flying fuck about getting a bit damp in the process.

Snape began grilling Granger about what had immediately preceded Harry's attacks - she'd been present for two. Weasley had been present for one of them, from when he'd brought him in, and then there was the one from what to me was earlier tonight but had likely since become yesterday evening. The fifth was during a visit from Lovegood and Longbottom apparently. It fascinated Severus that all attacks happened in the presence of people, although, I wanted to point out that a person like Potter was never without visitors. Still, every avenue explored was one ruled out, at the very least. Granger said one of the attacks occurred when Teddy was describing a picture he'd drawn of Harry - or the two of them flying. I had seen it.

"He told Harry to wake up so he could teach him to fly a broom." My heart constricted. "Then suddenly, the Healer alarms started going off"

The next was when Healer Bones was describing his condition to the Weasleys. They resultantly thought perhaps he had understood and got agitated but once the healers pointed out it was another organ failure, they had let that hypothesis drop. It would've been the third one - they were expecting them by then.

Weasley said the first attack had started as soon as they'd landed in Mungo's. They'd tried to wake him and for a few seconds he had been lucid and that's when his spleen burst.

It was becoming clear that Potter was being stimulated in some way in each of those. And I knew what would strengthen that hypothesis. I took a deep breath and described my experience from earlier - how I'd spoken to him... not what I had said - I wasn't going to share that, but the emotional intensity behind it. When I looked up, belatedly realising that I'd kept my head down the entire retelling, I saw three sets of sympathetic eyes on me. I could feel my cheeks heating. I looked to Severus and he looked impassive - admittedly he was an oil painting, but even so. His expression was calculating.

"An emotional trigger?" Severus mumbled

"I wonder..." McGonnagal spoke this time, "I wonder if it's as nuanced as that - the caster doesn't sound like he would have that sort of flair"

I thought back to him, his greasy hair and stained trousers. The look of cruelty on his face - no. Certainly not.

"Then?" I asked.

"I believe what you've described is quite simply a trigger for excessive brain activity. Potter is kept in a vegetative state, rousing only when given cause. An enervate at the hospital, or in the cases of Draco or Teddy - an emotionally charged interaction. It's highly utilitarian - an active brain is a sign of recovery - if the body appears to recover from one onslaught, trigger the next one."

I saw Dumbledore nodding sedately out of the corner of my eye. So if Harry had been awoken, his organs would have collapsed faster? I shook myself out of unhelpful thoughts and back to the conversation at hand. How do we build a counter curse if we've got all the parts. I knew the science, but not the practical application. We didn't have the words - so our best bet would be to visualise each strand and then to unpick it; to create an equal and opposite force to the dark magic inside Potter. We needed to find out what the curse looked like, first. Physical triggers were in the first book I'd come across, it had just seemed too simple to explain Potter's condition. They were straightforward, I knew that. The trigger wrapped around the physical portion of the spell like a coil. In Potter's case, around each of the Perderes. I yanked the parchment with the spell maps towards myself, I drew the brain trigger on Granger's organ cluster vanishing the straight line trigger underneath. My eyes flew to the dotted line - the direction.

I got ahead of myself - we were still short one strand. How would the curse know where to hit next? It traveled in a logical way, and this described just a random free for all. Why were the organs collapsing one at a time, instead of all at once? Surely excessive brain function would trigger all the Perderes simultaneously. We were definitely missing one strand, a directional strand or a waterfall strand. I must have voiced these thoughts aloud because everyone was now staring at me when I looked up from the parchment.

"You are not wrong, Draco. But we do not need to know it, to nullify the spell. Each Perdere is acting almost independently in the moment, but is, as you say, strung together somehow. We need the curse to be active to attack it - therefore, our only hope is to cure Potter one organ at a time."

Did he mean...did that mean? I looked towards Granger in shock, to find her looking back with the same expression. We were going to have to activate the curse and fight it before it took Potter down? There was white noise in my head and it sounded like everyone was far away. I could hear McGonnagal, Dumbledore, Granger, Weasley, Severus. It sounded like they were having an argument but the voices were faint. What if we failed? What if we got it wrong? We called on Harry's body to implode and then failed to stop it? What if we kill him? I felt sick, and dizzy. I tried to wipe my face with my hand but it wouldn't move. Move, hand! I pleaded, but still I sat there paralysed. How long? An hour? A year? A minute? I felt cool hands on my forehead, it felt nice on my hot flesh. I felt my mother's perfume wash over me, as a calming spell hit. My name, repeated - Draco, Draco, Draco. The voices steadily grew louder, my body continued to shake. I looked up to find 3 people crouched before me. Another panic attack?

"Are you okay?" Granger asked.

"What if we're wrong?" I replied.

"Trust me" Severus said.

I never had cause to doubt him before - but today I did. I trusted him for 23 years; with my own life, with my mother's life. Yet with Harry, it was different. I felt tears forming. Granger's grip on my arm tightened - a comforting squeeze. Surprisingly, it was Weasley who attempted to console me.

"We love him too, Malfoy" I felt my breath hitch. Did I love him? My heart throbbed painfully and my tears tipped over. I guess I did. "We lose him if we don't try." But if we're wrong, "we might lose him even if we do try, but maybe we won't. Maybe we get to see him awake, healthy, happy...." I'm scared. "We're scared too". Eventually my tears dried, my shaking stopped. Eventually, my mind cleared. "What do we do?" I croaked.

We would have to perform the spell on Harry - visualise the curse and diffuse it, as it wreaked havoc before our very eyes. If it was his good lung next, and we got it wrong - we still had a chance. If it was his heart... then we would lose him. And even if we got it right, how many times would we have to do it? We didn't know how many organs were cursed - couldn't predict how Harry's body would react to repeated attacks like we were considering enforcing. I felt physically ill as we floo'd into Mungo's. My brow and palms were sweaty and I felt unseasonably hot in my shirt and trousers. We walked into Harry's room, all four of us. When I'd walked in here a few hours ago, it had looked jovial. With the knowledge of what we were to do here looming over us all, the decorations looked garish, the tree with its twinkling lights sinister. I took a seat near Harry, my wand poised to lift the enervate. Weasley and McGonnagal undid the monitoring spells. Granger stood at the door still, her wand gripped tightly in her hand and her eyes on the bed. She was the most magically gifted, aside from McGonnagal. She was also close to Harry emotionally so it was thought that her lack of an incantation wouldn't be as significant a deterrent. I moved my gaze from her to Harry - lying there unconscious. He looked frail, sallow. I felt like he'd lost even more weight since he'd been here even though it had only been a couple of days. I looked at his long lashes, the little grooves on the bridge of his nose from wearing glasses all his life, his lightning bolt scar. I memorised every aspect of his face, storing it away. Maybe I'd lose him tonight.

"Ready" Granger called. I turned to see her at the foot of the bed, Weasley and McGonnagal standing to either side of her. Weasley moved to the door and cast strong locking spells - the kinds that glowed red and orange and blue, that didn't sound familiar at all. Auror level. I looked at Granger, she nodded. I pointed my wand at Potter, lifted his stasis charm. My voice wavered a little bit and my hand shook.

"Enervate"

 

\----------------------------

I knocked my boots against the side of my building, letting the snow caking the bottom shake off. Served me right for choosing to walk from work. The day had looked gorgeous from the drab dullness of Gringotts and most of my day I'd imagined the joy of walking home through freshly fallen snow, even if in the dark. The last few weeks had been some of the worst of my life; I thought I ought to take happiness in whatever form offered. I couldn't remember the last time it snowed in London, but it reminded me of being younger, happier. Not right now though. My feet were frozen, as were my hands. And the fact that I lived in a Magic/Muggle building meant I had to somehow fish out my keys with fingers that had forgotten their primary functionality. With impossible physical strength and dexterity, I finally managed to get to my flat. I turned the key in my lock, feeling the wards unwind around me and shuffled in, breathing a sigh of relief at the warming spells.

Wait...what warming spells? I was out all day and I definitely did not live with anyone. I felt in my pocket for my wand, pulling it out and holding it steady. I didn't know what to do - should I call the Aurors? Should I leave? Should I go in there and fight whoever's broken in? I mean, it could be my mum, or Daphne or Pansy or Theo but they didn't tend to drop by unannounced. And they knew my working hours... the warming spell would indicate the person inside had been here at least an hour. I stood there for an age, trying to think up the ideal course of action. My wand poised and pointed at my living room door, I cautiously took a few steps forward, when I heard a voice call out my name. A voice that caused me to falter, grabbing the bannister for support before I fell face first. A voice I hadn't heard speak my name in well over a year, but one I remembered probably better than my own. Almost as soon as I regained my balance, I ran into the living room, stopping dead, right in front of Harry Potter.

Living, breathing Harry Potter. Harry Potter smiling at me, standing in front of my fireplace where a hearty fire roared. He'd made himself comfortable, I could see. Outer layers cast aside, shoes off, he stood there in a too big t shirt; he'd not gained all his weight back yet clearly, and jeans that probably ought to be thrown away now. He looked weak, but he looked alive. So alive. I knew he was recovering, Granger had been keeping me in the loop regarding his progress, but to see him... to actually see him. There was a blush staining his cheeks, a bit on the gaunt side, still. Oh! I realised how long I must've been staring. I also realised my mouth was hanging slightly open. I shut it instantly, breaking out of my shock. I wanted to tell him how happy I was to see he was recovering.

"You idiot! What were you thinking?!" Is what I actually said, much to our collective horror. "Don't break into someone's house like that, Potter? Are you insane?!? I nearly called the Aurors!"

That got a smile out of him.

"Draco, I am the Aurors". Right. Almost as soon as he said that, I saw a shadow cross his face. I knew why of course... Granger had covered that in our regular correspondence since the... since Harry had been healed, almost a month ago now. He might not be physically fit after his ordeal to ever return to the force. I didn't know how he felt about that, only that it was a consideration.

"How did you get in?" I asked.

"Your mum... I went to the Manor first. She let me floo from there. Is it okay if I sit? Sorry I got up to.. um.. to greet you but I still, I can't... I mean..." the blush on his face was burning bright. Not one to accept weakness. I nodded jerkily. Sit. Fuck, lie down if you need to. Anything you want.

He grabbed a walking stick from his left, I hadn't even noticed it. My heart clenched as he hobbled to the sofa and gingerly settled himself into it. I walked to my chair next to the fire, twisting it so it faced him, and sat down.

"Why were you visiting with Mum?" I asked; half curious, half to fill the silence.

He looked surprised by my question.

"She visited me... while I was recovering. I kind of remember it but not really - was a bit woozy. I got discharged a couple days ago... I just... I dunno, I wanted to know why..."

I didn't know that. I made a mental note to ask her about it. The silence stretched in front of us again. He was toying with a rip in his jeans.

"Would you like a drink?" I asked. He looked up, and nodded, a small smile on his lips. It made me weak as I got up.

I didn't know if he was allowed alcohol, but he didn't stop me as I poured two fingers of whiskey in a couple of tumblers for us. I walked to him and held out his glass. He reached out a hand, our fingers brushing briefly as he took it from me. In his own hand the tumbler shook terribly, the drink nearly sloshing over the sides. He put his left hand over his right to steady it - it helped but still it shook.

"Here... let me" I offered, wanting to place it next to him on the side table. He told me he was fine. I saw him settle the shaking by sheer force of will, but I hovered until I was sure he was fine. I went back to my seat and once again we were in silence. How are you feeling? What are you thinking? Why are you here? All questions I had that died in my throat. I sipped from my drink, at a loss. Potter grabbed his tumbler from the side table and I could only watch as it fell from his hands - landing on the carpet; the amber liquid spreading over the plush white. I watched the liquid make trails before soaking into the wool in the next instant. A pained sound stole my attention from the tableau. I looked up to see Potter staring at the rug in horror, his hands in front of his mouth. I was about to tell him it's okay before he fell to the floor next to it, pulling his wand from his pocket, trying to point it but failing.

I fell to the floor beside him - "it's okay" I cooed. I told him Mother’s elves would have it spotless in a second. I told him to please get off the ground but he stayed there, hunched over. I sat with him, running my hand over his back in what I hoped was a soothing fashion. He was clearly not physically fit enough to be out traveling alone, yet here he was. We sat there for a few moments - I watched the alcohol evaporate, leaving a damp brown mark on the carpet.

"Msclrtrphy" Harry mumbled finally.

"Sorry?" I said, not being a fluent speaker in Embarrassed Mumble.

"I said" Harry hauled himself back onto the sofa and I settled next to him, instead of opposite this time, turning my body towards him. "That it's muscular atrophy. I've been bedridden for 3 weeks so my muscles... well they're... just not what they were. And the tumbler was heavy. I'm sorry."

"Potter - it's fine. Like I said - Mum’ elves would have that sorted in a flash." I didn't doubt his explanation but I think the jagged wound on his arm that I saw from the memory probably also played a part.

He was back to playing with the rip in his jeans. Then, "I know what you did". I inhaled sharply, loudly, at that. I had given express instruction that he not be told of my involvement. I don't know why I wanted that, but I did. My outrage probably showed because when Potter finally deigned to look up from his jeans, he quickly clarified.

"I saw my night visitor exception list - you were on it and I know for a fact you never visited while I was conscious. I grilled Hermione about it and it took some doing but she caved eventually. Don't... don't be angry with her - I basically pulled it out of her."

I didn't know what to say, so I stayed silent. So he was here to thank me, then. Or ask me why I did what I did. I wanted neither of those things but I couldn't very well tell him to fuck off, either.

"Thank you" he said then. It felt as bitter as I suspected. As if I did it for him. "It must've been really difficult - from what I understand of the procedure."  
Difficult... My mind went back to those 4 hours we spent locked in Potter's hospital room; we'd pull him into consciousness only long enough to observe where the damage was happening before we'd visualise, unpick, cast and release the counter curse. Then we'd wait, for Harry's body to settle and our strength to regain somewhat. Eight times we did this, the last 2 were by me. When at last the Healers were let back in, they had 4 patients to deal with. I was briefly treated and then taken to the Ministry, where my extensive lawbreaking was narrated to me while I lay slumped on an interrogation chair; drained emotionally and magically. But Harry had lived. Yes, I guess difficult was one somewhat suitable adjective.

"You don't need to thank me, Harry" I whispered sincerely. I saw his eyes blow wide in surprise. I suppose it was surprising. Prior to his accident, he thought he meant nothing to me... I can see why discovering your one time fling who you knew only used you for sex, saving your life like that would be confusing.

He was about to say something else, I could see it in the way his lips moved, his brow wrinkled. The way he took a deep breath in. I prepared myself for the why, but it never came. Instead he told me he ought to leave. I saw him pull his shoes on before heaving himself up with help from his cane, take his wand out and kill the fire with shaking hands. The room felt colder - whether because Harry was set to walk out of my life a second time, or because the fire had died, I didn't know. He looked sad, his shoulders dropped low and his head downcast. He turned to me and thanked me once again as he pulled his jacket on.

Suddenly the rest of my life loomed stark and grey in front of me. Without Potter, last year had been a drab shadow of reality and another 60 years just like it seemed impossible to me. Fuck, I loved him. So fucking much. And I didn't deserve him and he'd probably leave me and being friends with Weasley was most likely an impossibility. But I'm selfish. I'm so selfish.

"Harry" I said, getting up from my spot on the couch, coming to stand behind him. He turned around. Floo powder was falling onto the rug from his fist. His eyebrow was raised in question. I love you. Come back to me. Forgive me. Be mine. What I feel for you is a physical ache inside me. When I thought you were going to die, I forgot how to breathe. I thought back to that moment by his bedside, a question I'd asked his unconscious form.

"Maybe we could go flying together?"

Once again, I'd surprised him. A few agonising seconds passed in silence before he spoke.

"Draco... it's January..." he said. Right. It was.

"Yes well. Maybe not now. But later? After...?"

"After January?" He asked, a small smile tugging at his lips. Was he teasing me?

"Yes. Or after February. Or next year. Next decade. Whenever you want." Whatever you want, however you want. I let every emotion I felt for him shine through - all walls down. Please Harry. Hear what I'm still too much of a coward to say. He took in a shocked breath. His eyes looked bright. I was scared. I think I might even be shaking?

"You're an arsehole" he told me. Right. There was my answer. 

"I am" I whispered back, letting my eyes fall shut, my head fall. I waited to hear the floo. But I didn't.

What I heard was "okay"

My heart skipped a beat. Okay? I kept my eyes tightly shut. I heard him move towards me, and then I could feel his body heat. He was inches away from me. I opened my eyes cautiously, "okay?" I repeated.

"Okay." He said again. "Yes. Let's go flying together. After"

I felt tears form in my eyes. I heard Harry's cane fall to the floor with a soft thump and then, we were in each other's arms. Did I grab him? Did he grab me? I don't know but we held on tightly. I was crying. Maybe he was crying too. To check would mean to let go and I couldn't do that. This lifetime was to hold Harry Potter.

And I never planned on letting go again.


End file.
